Army withdrew in defeat from Afghanistan in 1989 after ten years of bitter fighting. Officially, they did. Unofficially, they left a criminal presence in country that flourished, working the opium trade, at least until the Taliban took over the country in 1996 and imposed sanctions. At first the drug was suppressed, but like any government, the Taliban needed money, so they took over the opium fields, eventually controlling well over ninety percent and imposing high taxes. The displaced Russian criminals were among the biggest rooting section when the Americans invaded in 2001 to take down the Taliban, and they picked up where they had left off.
An exiled Russian drug dealer had been put into the CIA Witness Protection Program and relocated to Boulder. After many bodies, including that of a baby, Chase had finally tracked Vladislav high into the Rocky Mountains, and the result had been bloody. The Russian mindset was paranoia layered with crazy, mixed with ruthlessness. A country that had absorbed Tsars, Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, and more invasions than one could count, produced a certain type of criminal. One that adapted to their environment, and then literally carved out their place in it. They didn’t assimilate, they infested.
Chase’s cell phone buzzed.
He plugged a pair of ear buds in the jack and stuck them in his ears before answering. A disadvantage of driving a Jeep with the top down was, it was hard to hear.
“Yeah?” Chase yelled.
“It’s Erin.”
He could barely make out her voice. “What’s up?”
“I just had a couple of Russians in my place, asking whose dog was shot last night.”
Chase’s foot tapped the brake and he put on his turn signal, searching for a place to pull off. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. A friend helped me out.”
Chase pulled off the two-lane road onto a narrow piece of shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”
“I’m fine,” Erin said. “Did you find out who took the kid?”
“I was on my way to Savannah to talk to a Russian, as a matter of fact. Did you find out who sent them?”
“Gator did.”
“‘Gator?’”
“A friend. They said a man named Karralkov.” She gave Chase the two men’s names. “One of them had his arm in a sling—I think he’s the one you shot.”
Chase gripped the phone tighter. “Karralkov’s exactly who I’m going to see. Did they threaten you?”
“They tried, but Gator took care of them.”
Chase took a deep breath. “All right. We need to all meet up when I get back. Out at my place.”
“I thought it wasn’t safe,” Erin said.
“I don’t think any place is safe, but if you bring your friend Gator, sounds like you should be all right. Plus, I think we’re at an impasse now with the kidnapping. A cease-fire.”
“I’ll be fine with Gator with me.”
“Then my house at”—Chase glanced at the dash—“five. And call Dave Riley and tell him about the meeting.” He gave Riley’s cell phone number.
“The Riley who is over on Dafuskie at the Shack?”
“Yeah. And Kono.” He relayed a second number.
“Interesting friends you have, Horace.”
“You’re one of them, right?”
“I am. I’ll make the calls. See you then. And Horace?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.” The phone went dead.
Chase left the Jeep in park and considered the situation. If Karralkov was trying to find out who he was ...
Chase scrolled through the contact list on his phone.
It was a depressingly short list. Mostly people he’d served with. His old partner, Porter, back in the Boulder P.D., was about the only one he’d really call a friend.
He found the number he was looking for listed simply under BLACK, a not-so-subtle reference to the world the man he needed moved in.
Chase hit autodial, having no idea if the other end would be picked up, if the man was in country, or even alive.
“Horace Chase.” The voice was dry and humorless, somehow implying that the owner was a man who never laughed.
“Cardena.” How
An exiled Russian drug dealer had been put into the CIA Witness Protection Program and relocated to Boulder. After many bodies, including that of a baby, Chase had finally tracked Vladislav high into the Rocky Mountains, and the result had been bloody. The Russian mindset was paranoia layered with crazy, mixed with ruthlessness. A country that had absorbed Tsars, Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, and more invasions than one could count, produced a certain type of criminal. One that adapted to their environment, and then literally carved out their place in it. They didn’t assimilate, they infested.
Chase’s cell phone buzzed.
He plugged a pair of ear buds in the jack and stuck them in his ears before answering. A disadvantage of driving a Jeep with the top down was, it was hard to hear.
“Yeah?” Chase yelled.
“It’s Erin.”
He could barely make out her voice. “What’s up?”
“I just had a couple of Russians in my place, asking whose dog was shot last night.”
Chase’s foot tapped the brake and he put on his turn signal, searching for a place to pull off. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. A friend helped me out.”
Chase pulled off the two-lane road onto a narrow piece of shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”
“I’m fine,” Erin said. “Did you find out who took the kid?”
“I was on my way to Savannah to talk to a Russian, as a matter of fact. Did you find out who sent them?”
“Gator did.”
“‘Gator?’”
“A friend. They said a man named Karralkov.” She gave Chase the two men’s names. “One of them had his arm in a sling—I think he’s the one you shot.”
Chase gripped the phone tighter. “Karralkov’s exactly who I’m going to see. Did they threaten you?”
“They tried, but Gator took care of them.”
Chase took a deep breath. “All right. We need to all meet up when I get back. Out at my place.”
“I thought it wasn’t safe,” Erin said.
“I don’t think any place is safe, but if you bring your friend Gator, sounds like you should be all right. Plus, I think we’re at an impasse now with the kidnapping. A cease-fire.”
“I’ll be fine with Gator with me.”
“Then my house at”—Chase glanced at the dash—“five. And call Dave Riley and tell him about the meeting.” He gave Riley’s cell phone number.
“The Riley who is over on Dafuskie at the Shack?”
“Yeah. And Kono.” He relayed a second number.
“Interesting friends you have, Horace.”
“You’re one of them, right?”
“I am. I’ll make the calls. See you then. And Horace?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.” The phone went dead.
Chase left the Jeep in park and considered the situation. If Karralkov was trying to find out who he was ...
Chase scrolled through the contact list on his phone.
It was a depressingly short list. Mostly people he’d served with. His old partner, Porter, back in the Boulder P.D., was about the only one he’d really call a friend.
He found the number he was looking for listed simply under BLACK, a not-so-subtle reference to the world the man he needed moved in.
Chase hit autodial, having no idea if the other end would be picked up, if the man was in country, or even alive.
“Horace Chase.” The voice was dry and humorless, somehow implying that the owner was a man who never laughed.
“Cardena.” How
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