He sat perfectly still in the old truck as the late afternoon waned into dusk, watching the old man’s residence like a hawk eying a rabbit hole. Waiting was something Petrov could do for days. When his mind was locked on a mission, there was almost nothing that could take him away from it. Many men he knew in the army were big hunters. He remembered them talking about how they would sit for twelve hours at a time just waiting for a deer to come by. Petrov’s favorite prey was human.
Not surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long for his quarry to reappear through the garage door. The man he didn’t recognize was barely visible through the passenger window as he drove the Cadillac, while Fowler jogged over to a black Mustang. Petrov didn’t know what year the car had been made, but from the looks of it, he assumed late 1960s.
The Mustang revved to life, and Fowler backed it out onto the quiet city street. The Cadillac pulled out as well and followed close behind, the two cars driving right by the empty pickup truck. At least they would think it was empty. Petrov had ducked out of sight, just peeking over the dashboard enough to see the vehicles go by. Fortunately, it had got a little darker, and he doubted they would notice him. He eyed the two vehicles warily as they rolled down the road, only turning on the truck’s engine when he saw them turn right at the next street.
Petrov revved the engine and whipped the truck out of the parking spot in a hurried U-turn. He was glad this part of the city seemed a little less busy. It might have been because it was a weeknight. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want anyone to notice him.
When he reached the street, he saw the two cars make a left at the next light. Petrov followed suit, careful to stay far enough behind so they wouldn’t notice.
Fifteen minutes went by as he played the game of cat and mouse. Eventually, his targets drove through an old gate in front of an abandoned steel mill. They had to be dumping his rental car there. Smart. He would have probably done the same thing if the roles were reversed. The rental company wouldn’t tell anyone who had rented the car, not that it would do any good. Petrov had procured the vehicle under a false name. He had passports and papers from four different countries, allowing him to easily hop around the world without being noticed.
He eased the pickup into a small parking lot next to a fast food burger restaurant and turned off the ignition. If he followed the two men into the steel mill, there would be no real chance for an ambush. Not to mention the fact that he was unarmed, something he would have to remedy in a hurry. A thought occurred to him as he considered what to do about a gun. Petrov reached over and opened the glove compartment. Resting inside was a short revolver. A quick check told him the gun was loaded. Six shots, he thought. Hopefully, he would only need two. Revolvers weren’t his preferred weapon of choice, but given the circumstances, he would take what he could get. Glad to at least have something, he stuffed the gun under his right leg and continued to watch.
Petrov only had to wait five minutes for the Mustang to reappear at the rusty gates. As suspected, the Cadillac was nowhere to be seen. He waited until his targets had got back onto the main road heading into the city before starting the truck’s engine. A few cars went by behind the Mustang, giving him a little cover as he guided the truck into the far right lane.
Despite being irritated at the surprise attack from earlier in the day, Petrov felt invigorated. He gripped the steering wheel tight as the truck rumbled down the road, following the Mustang onto the interstate. His ribs still hurt, and his hip felt like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer, but the pain began to drift to the back of his mind. He was on the hunt again, and that renewed his energy.
Soon, he would have his kill.
Chapter 5
Dufort stared down at the two people, bound and gagged, sitting upright on the cold, concrete floor at his feet. The young brunette woman had a cut across her cheek. A smattering of blood stained her white night gown. Her smooth, tanned legs were scuffed and bruised. She’d clearly been through some kind of struggle; her eyes filled with defiance and anger.
The man next to her, a portly man probably in his midforties with a bald head rimmed by a thin layer of hair, was less defiant. Terror flowed from his eyes. He’d seen what his boss was willing to do to people who double-crossed him. Now he was about to face the same fate.
Caron stood nearby, holding a black leather clutch, his face void of emotion.
“Why would you think that I would never find out about your betrayal?” Dufort addressed the chubby man first. “Did you honestly think I would not figure out that you were talking to the authorities?”
The man tried to speak, but the gag in his mouth only served to muffle the words.
Dufort shook his head and wagged a finger in the air. “Shhh. Do not speak. You will only anger me further. As it is, I’m going to end your miserable life fairly quickly, like this common whore next to you.”
The words had no effect on the young woman. She simply stared up at Dufort, full of disdain.
Again, the man tried to speak, the urgency in his voice causing the muffled noises to grow louder in the enclosed space.
“I do not wish to hear your lies. My men tell me that you are a policeman. Is that true?”
The fleshy prisoner thought about his response for a moment, then shook his head. Dufort could almost understand the words, “No, I swear it,” coming through the rag in the man’s mouth.
“Careful.” He raised the finger again. “If you lie to me, I will make this much worse than what I’m going to do to her.” He paused and stared into the man’s eyes, into his soul. Dufort turned to Caron and removed a syringe from the leather clutch.
“This girl,” he said as he removed the cap from the needle, “tried to run away from me. While I can understand her distaste for the life I’ve given her, it must be understood that no one ever turns their back on me. No one ever betrays me. And no one ever threatens my way of life, or my business. Is that understood?”
The fat man nodded.
“Good,” Dufort said and squatted down. He held the needle close to the man’s face and waved it around slowly, taunting him with the pointed metal object.
In a flash, Dufort turned to the woman and smacked her across the face with his other hand. The force caused her to topple sideways momentarily. Using the momentum of his strike, Dufort forced the girl onto her face and yanked up on her bound wrists. In a quick motion, he stuck the needle into her arm and injected the clear liquid. A second later, he stood up and watched as the drug did its work.
The chubby prisoner also watched; his eyes filled with fear as the woman began to shake violently, rolling around on the concrete. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He turned away, unwilling to watch the scene play out, but Caron stepped over and forced the prisoner’s head back, making him observe the entire event. It took three minutes for the woman to die. She never screamed, never said a word, but her suffering was evident.
When the body went limp, Dufort returned his attention to the man on the floor. “Who did you talk to?” he asked as he yanked the gag out of the man’s mouth.
“No one. I swear it. I did not speak to anyone. I would never betray you.” The prisoner pleaded with tears rolling down his face.
Dufort made a clicking sound with his tongue. “My good man, do you honestly expect me to believe that you are innocent when I have it on good account that you recently spoke to an American agent?”
A sudden look of concern washed onto the man’s face. “American agent?” he asked. “I know of no such encounter.”