Lancaster undid the bungee cord and removed the bag. The woman’s hair was matted against her forehead, hiding her face, and he wiped it away. It was Katya. He gave her a gentle slap, and her eyes popped open.
“Remember us?” Beth asked.
Her chest heaved up and down. “You’re Martin’s daughter.”
“That’s right. Did Bogdan do this to you?”
“Yes. He killed the others as well.”
“What others?”
“He shot the Vasileks and the other Russians who were working with them. He apologized before he shot them, said he needed to tie up loose ends.”
“That was nice of him. Where is he?”
Katya clamped her mouth shut. Russian criminals were a strange breed. Their allegiance to their partners was sacrosanct, even when their partners turned on them.
“Why are you holding back? He tried to murder you. He’s not your friend.”
“And neither are you! I want a lawyer.”
A thundercloud passed over Beth’s face. She looked ready to scream, and she looked to Lancaster for help. Beth was bound to a set of rules that he’d abandoned a long time ago.
“Leave us alone,” he said.
Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to charm her into telling me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, go into the hall, and make sure none of your team comes in here.”
“You can’t lay a hand on her, Jon.”
“No scars?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Please go into the hall. This won’t take long.”
The battle was always the same. Beth’s conscience wrestling with her heart. This time, her heart won out, and she marched out of the room.
“Last chance. Are you going to tell me where Bogdan is?” he asked.
Katya hissed at him like a snake. “Screw you.”
“Wrong answer.”
He placed the plastic bag over Katya’s head so the punctured side was in back, and secured it around her neck with the bungee cord. When she tried to scream, he put his hand around her throat and squeezed. Her eyes bulged. He bid her goodbye in Russian.
“Dasvidaniya.”
She torqued violently in her chair. Her breathing, at first frantic, began to diminish. He leaned in, and stared at her through the plastic. Their eyes locked.
“Be smart. Save yourself.”
He released his grip on her throat. When no response was forthcoming, he said, “Lissette told us where to find you. She sold you out. She was the smart one.”
Katya looked at him differently through the plastic. Had she and Lissette not gotten along? They were both young and beautiful, and there was every reason to think that jealousy had played a role in their relationship. It was worth a shot. Taking out his cell phone, he pulled up the photograph he’d surreptitiously snapped of Lissette eating dinner a few short hours ago, her chin greasy with food, and showed it to her.
“Lissette cut a deal, and now she’s free. Tell me where Bogdan is, and you’ll walk out of here. Hell, I’ll even buy you dinner. What do you say?”
Katya was hardly breathing. A sound escaped her lips that sounded like yes. He undid the bungee cord and pulled away the bag. She spent a few moments sucking down air.
“Out with it,” he said.
“Bogdan is in the hotel, top floor, room 1801,” she said.
He started to leave. She shrieked indignantly. “Let me go. That was our deal.”
“I lied,” he said.
Chapter 46
The Bahia Mar was an iconic South Florida landmark, which was a nice way of saying that it sorely needed a facelift. Daniels stood at the front desk with the sleepy-eyed night manager, a middle-aged Cuban who’d been napping when she walked in.
“What room is he in?” the night manager asked.
“1801. Last name Sokolov.”
The night manager two-finger typed an ancient computer. “Here we go. Bogdan Sokolov. He’s a regular guest, and has a boat docked in our marina.”
“That’s our man.”
“May I ask why you’re looking for him?”
“No, you may not. Is there any way to know if he’s in his room?”
“There most certainly is.” He typed another command. “Whenever a guest enters their room, it registers on our system. They’re called door counters. We installed them to stop kids here on spring break from holding parties in their rooms. Okay. According to the system, the door to 1801 was opened at 2:37 a.m.”
She checked the time. It was 4:39 a.m. Two hours ago.
“Can you tell me if he was coming, or going?”
“Sure. We can review the surveillance video from the hallway.” He exited the screen and opened up another application. “I’ll bet you a dollar he’s dealing drugs.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I work nights, and see him come in with young girls. They’re always messed up. I assumed he was picking them up in a bar, getting them high, and bringing them here.”
“Did you ever think of reporting him?”
“To who?”
“The police?”
“The police are bad for business. I could get fired if I did that.”
A surveillance video taken in the hallway outside room 1801 appeared on the computer’s screen. It was of poor quality, and she squinted to read the time stamp in the bottom right-hand corner. It was the same time the night manager had said.
The video ran for thirty seconds before Bogdan and a young girl wearing skintight jeans and a halter top appeared. The girl had whiskey legs and was holding on to Bogdan for dear life. He kissed her on the mouth before keying the door. They both went in.
“Let me see that again,” she said.
The night manager replayed the video. As Daniels watched, she created an order of events. Bogdan had tied up Katya and put a plastic bag over her head. Rather than watch her die, he’d left the marina and gone to a bar, where he’d picked up a floozy, fed her drugs, and brought her to his room. Most people who committed murder felt some kind of remorse. Not this animal.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her team stood by the bank of elevators. The elevators were small, and she decided they would take two to the eighteenth floor.
Jon stood off to the side. He understood that he wouldn’t be joining them. He deserved to go — without his help, they wouldn’t have found Bogdan — but having a nonagent on the bust was against bureau rules.
“I’m sorry, but you need to stay here,” she said.
“Maybe I can get a beer at the bar,” he said.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“At you? Never. I’d just like to see his face when you break down the door.”
“I’ll describe it to you later over a drink.”
She squeezed his arm and went to join her team. There were three agents in each of the two elevators. She got on with the team that had the battering ram. The door slid shut and the car ascended, the cables creaking as they rose.
“This elevator is older than me,” an agent with gray hair quipped.
The cars arrived simultaneously on the eighteenth floor. The first team checked out the hallway, and confirmed that it was empty. Daniels motioned for the agent with the battering ram to take down the door. Suddenly, a man in pajamas holding an ice bucket emerged from a room. His eyes went wide.