The Hunters Box Set, page 3
part #1 of The Hunters Series
The entry was lined with marble floors. It was flanked by a huge living space on one side and an equally large dining area on the other. The spaces were separated by a barrel ceiling, supported by elegant columns and accented by traditional wainscoting. A crystal chandelier, matching the large one in the mezzanine, dangled in the center of each room. Neither was turned on, but they sparkled like diamonds in the faint light.
Who said crime didn’t pay?
She scanned both areas for any signs of a recessed safe or a hidden door but came up empty. Just as well. Anyone could have spotted her in there, whether they were hired to protect Kozlov or just waxed the floors on weekends.
She continued forward, finding the kitchen beyond. Not surprisingly, it was massive and had two of everything—stoves, sinks, dishwashers, and refrigerators—as if Noah had ordered the appliances. In reality, she knew the real reason for all the duplicates: Kozlov was feeding an army.
For some reason, Russian mobsters took care of their men like doting mothers. They housed them. They fed them. They gave them gifts. In return, they expected unwavering loyalty and utmost respect. All it took was a whiff of betrayal for heads to roll. The betrayer’s head. His family’s heads. His pet’s head as well. In one memorable case, they even hunted down his “friends” on Facebook and killed them, too.
The Russian bratva didn’t mess around.
She forced those thoughts out of her mind as she opened the lone door in the kitchen. It led to a concrete staircase that disappeared in the darkness below. Weighing her options, she closed the door behind her and tested her sight.
She saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.
She cursed to herself.
Although her mask had built-in night vision, it only worked when there was ambient light. In the basement, there would be none. If she wanted to see, she knew she had to take a giant risk. Reluctantly, she pulled out a small flashlight from her pocket. She turned it on and followed its beam down the stairs.
The basement came as another surprise. Not only because Kozlov had built one so close to the water’s edge, but because of its simplicity.
It was the opposite of everything she had seen above.
The red floor was nothing but painted cement. The walls and ceiling were lined with plastic and insulation, probably to absorb sound more than heat. It looked like the “boiler room” of a telemarketing firm that had gone bust. Ironically, she got the sense that more business was done down here than anywhere else in the house. The kind of business that involved a pair of pliers, a baseball bat, and a screaming victim.
She focused her attention on the gray metal door in the center of the far wall. It sat next to an elaborate cooling system that clanked in the corner. Blueprints and work orders had led her to believe that there would be a room in the rear of the basement.
In a flash, she realized it wasn’t a room at all.
It was a walk-in meat locker.
Chapter Four
It wasn’t the polished steel exterior of the giant door that had given the freezer away. It was the oversized, single-handle latch.
She had come prepared for every kind of door. Even the simplest, most well-concealed vaults were protected by a lock of some kind. Bank and casino vaults—the gold standard by which vaults are measured—employed everything from analog pin-and-tumbler combination locks to next-generation biometric triggers, such as palm and retina scanners. She had seen systems that monitored perspiration and blood pressure. If someone showed any signs of distress while attempting to access the vault, the software would deny access—even if the correct codes had been entered.
Fortunately for her, this door was pretty basic.
All it required was a simple tug.
A rush of cold air pushed against her as she peeked inside the freezer. The walls were lined with steel racks that held bins of frozen vegetables, as well as store-bought items such as ready-made pasta entrees and desserts. In the center of the room stood a butcher’s station—a heavy, stainless steel table and an assortment of saws, cleavers, and carving knives. Two sides of the steel island were surrounded by hanging slabs of meat. Sides of beef, as well as whole hogs, slabs of mutton, chicken, rabbits, and duck dangled from hoists like a wide curtain of flesh.
As she closed the door behind her, the unit’s compressor hissed. The vents spewed freshly chilled air in an effort to compensate for her body heat.
She shivered as her breath crystallized.
For all its innovations, her suit did little to shield her from the cold. Then again, it wasn’t the frigid temperature that bothered her the most. She was more interested the room itself. Large as it was, it was still much smaller than she had been led to believe. This room should have consumed nearly a third of the basement, but it wasn’t close to that size. Either the blueprints were wrong, or this freezer was more than it appeared to be.
Five minutes later, she had her answer.
Thanks to the icy walls, the second door was virtually invisible in the back of the freezer. What gave it away was the set of hinges that allowed the racks in front of the door to pivot forward and swing aside. Once she pushed the frozen vegetables out of the way, she spotted a tiny slot in the metal surface of the rear wall. She immediately recognized it as a card reader, like those used in fancy hotels.
Unfazed, she produced a slim device from one of her many pockets. She flipped open the cover and inserted the gadget into the card reader. It fit perfectly. A flurry of access codes streamed across its tiny screen. She raised an eyebrow when the microcomputer continued to process after matching a fourth number. ATMs only require four-digit pin numbers, so a fifth digit seemed slightly excessive. By the time her device had acquired the tenth and final digit, she was beyond intrigued.
What the hell is he keeping in here?
The Ark of the Covenant?
With a faint click, the door popped open. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the door, then pulled it toward herself. She was expecting to see stacks of cash, mountains of cocaine, or something that would justify the security measures.
Instead, all she saw was a giant.
At nearly seven feet tall and roughly 400 pounds, the Russian guard literally filled the doorway. Standing face to face—make that chest to face—with a crafty ninja, he panicked and reached for his pistol instead of wrapping her in a massive bear hug that would have squeezed the life out of her in a matter of seconds.
It was a mistake he would later regret.
The moment he pulled his weapon, she thrust her right hand into his throat as if hurling a javelin. It was a knuckle punch—what mobsters called a “bear claw” and martial artists called a “panther fist.” Her thumb was pulled tight, her palm distended, and her four fingers were curled to provide a hard striking surface. It was intended to slip under the chin in a way that a normal punch couldn’t.
It was the perfect choice for a taller target.
Her strike was so violent and so precise that it collapsed his trachea and damaged his vocal cords, temporarily rendering him mute. More important, the force of the blow and the pain of the impact caused him to lose his grip on the pistol. It flew from his hand and slid to the rear corner of the secret room, far from his immediate reach.
Unfortunately, all that did was piss him off.
Fueled by rage, the giant lowered his shoulder and charged at his opponent, driving her back toward the butcher’s station. She glanced over her shoulder as she stumbled backwards. Given the force he exerted, she realized that the table’s blunt edge would most likely crush her spine, so she dropped to the floor and allowed the brute to kick her underneath. She slid across the floor and quickly bounced to her feet. Staring across the table at the hulking guard, she waited for his next move.
She didn’t have to wait long.
The Russian grabbed a large carving knife from the butcher’s block. He grasped the edge of the table with his other hand. With little more than a swipe of his arm, the guard flung the heavy steel table across the room. It had taken four men to bring it into the freezer, yet he had tossed it aside with no more effort than swatting a fly.
He lumbered toward her, his eyes ablaze. He swung wildly, then caught his balance. Again he struck out at her, and again it took him a moment to regroup. Clumsy as he was, she knew that he only needed to connect once. With his fury and strength, one blow would take her head clean off.
After his third swing, she struck back. The moment the blade sliced past, she stepped forward and delivered a vicious jab to his lower abdomen. The bastard barely winced, so she changed her approach and went for his face. She aimed for the bridge of his nose but connected with his orbital cavity. It felt like she had punched a cement wall. Almost instantly, his eye swelled shut. Blood trickled down his cheek from a wide gash under his brow, but he shrugged it off like a boxer in the ring.
He swung again, but this time she defended the strike. She knew she could never fully stop his arm’s momentum, but by focusing her block on his wrist, she was able to disarm him. The impact sent the knife flying across the room. Unfortunately, the guard followed this blow with a punch to her ribs, which sent her flying across the room in the opposite direction.
The guard took the opportunity to retreat into the hidden room. After scanning the floor, he found what he had come for and grabbed the pistol.
Time to end this, he thought.
Standing in the doorway between the rooms, he grew confused. He had expected to find her crumpled in the corner of the freezer, coughing up blood from his vicious blow. But she wasn’t there, or anywhere, that he could see. He moved forward to investigate.
Unbeknownst to him, she had scrambled across the floor and taken refuge behind the door. The instant he was fully inside the freezer, she slammed the door shut behind him. Darkness swallowed them both.
Without light, they were forced to rely on sound, and the only thing they could hear was each other’s labored breathing. The giant pointed his gun in the direction of the door and fired. He held his breath, hoping to hear the squeal of his victim, but was greeted by silence.
He fired again…then again…then again.
Each time aiming in a different direction.
Each time coming up empty.
Her matte-black bodysuit helped her stay hidden in the maze of dangling carcasses. With every flash of the guard’s pistol, she moved closer and closer to her target. Once she had narrowed the gap to three feet, she made her move.
She swept her foot violently behind his knee, knocking his leg from under him. As he crashed to the floor, she launched herself toward the ceiling. Clutching the hanging side of beef as if it were a rope swing, she cut the nylon line of the hoist with a cleaver. In an instant, the combined weight of herself and the steer crashed down upon the guard. His hip took the brunt of the impact, shattering like fine china.
She stood and illuminated the scene with her flashlight. The guard’s face conveyed the intolerable pain of his broken hip. Tears streamed down his chubby cheeks.
Thankfully, she had the perfect item to ease his pain.
Wrapping her hands around the brass knuckles that she never left home without—she had yet to meet a man who could withstand more than one good punch—she reared back and knocked out the giant with a powerful hook to his chin.
The big baby went right to sleep.
It was time to see what he was protecting.
Chapter Five
She opened the door slowly.
In stark contrast to the dark freezer, the secret room was bathed in soft, warm light. It had the look and feel of a large, windowless office, complete with a desk, computer, and a landline phone. A Russian calendar—featuring naked women in fur hats—hung behind the door, but her attention was focused on the crates of antiquities that lined the other three walls.
Seemingly every culture was represented. There were tribal masks, Oriental vases, and Roman weaponry. Everything from intricate baubles to uncut jewels. She even spotted a Gutenberg Bible, one of the most valuable books in the world. It was sitting inside a glass display case, which sat on top of a carton of Fabergé eggs.
Turning to her left, she spotted a crate of paintings in the far corner of the room. She hustled forward and pried open the crate.
Inside were several paintings.
All of which had been “lost” years ago.
Portrait of a Young Man—painted by Raphael in 1513, it was looted by the Nazis during World War II. The Battle of Anghiari—painted by Leonardo da Vinci in 1505, it is often referred to as “the Lost Leonardo.” Portrait of Alfonso I d'Este—painted by Titian in 1523, it disappeared from the Royal Alcazar of Madrid during the eighteenth century. The Storm on the Sea of Galilee—painted by Rembrandt in 1633, it was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990, the biggest art theft in U.S. history.
Masterpiece after masterpiece, just sitting on the floor.
All of them there for the taking.
And yet, she was forced to ignore them.
Rummaging through the canvases, she quickly discovered the small, framed arrangement of stained glass she had been told to locate.
Arguably, Marc Chagall’s most notable works of stained glass are the windows at the synagogue of Hebrew University’s Hadassah Medical Center in Jerusalem. But long before he set about that large-scale project, he created each window in miniature. These “rough drafts” and their finalized counterparts represent the twelve tribes of the Israelites—one picture for each tribe. Pulling a photo from her pack, she matched the image in the picture to the seventh piece in the series.
“Beautiful,” she said aloud.
Then she smashed the art into pieces.
Hidden inside the frame, sandwiched between two opaque plates of glass, was a single sheet of paper. She carefully removed the dried, cracked parchment, taking every precaution to prevent further damage. Without taking the time to read it, she inserted the document into a flexible, tear-resistant membrane and secured the package in a hidden pouch inside the back of her suit.
Then she checked her watch.
A minute or two more was worth the risk.
She darted over to the small desk and studied the system. Tapping on the mouse, the monitor flickered to life. She plugged a portable drive into the port on the side and copied the entire hard drive. Kozlov had art around the world, and she wanted to know who supplied it. Maybe she would come back for these treasures another time.
Satisfied with her haul, she made her way back into the freezer. Her contented smile quickly vanished when she realized that the wounded guard was no longer on the floor. Scanning the room, she saw that the other door was open. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the freezer and into the basement.
The moment she cleared the steel walls of the walk-in, the connection to her earpiece was restored. The voice on the other end of the mic was freaking out.
“Sarah, can you hear me!” the voice shouted. “If you can hear this, you need to evac immediately. I repeat, get the hell out of there!”
“Calm down, Hector. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s major. Everyone mobilized about a minute ago. The guards are pouring out of the neighboring houses, and they’re coming your way!”
◊ ◊ ◊
Hector Garcia studied the array of computer screens that he had assembled for this particular job. Although he was two thousand miles from the action, he had been feeding Sarah information from the moment she had landed in Brooklyn.
His guidance had been invaluable.
In addition to the data from the FBI surveillance van—which he had hacked with relative ease—Garcia had been monitoring the transmissions from the sticky blobs. His software processed the collective data stream in ways that would stagger the imagination. By differentiating and triangulating sounds, Garcia could not only determine how many people were inside the mansion, he could also tell which floors they were on and whether or not they were moving.
◊ ◊ ◊
Sarah followed a trail of blood and boot prints to the stairs that led to the kitchen door. There was no mistaking the giant’s size-twenty shoes.
“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath. She sprinted up the steps and jammed the lock from the inside. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would buy her some time. “I think I know why the natives are restless. I should’ve killed Shrek when I had the chance.”
“Shrek?” Garcia said, confused. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m feeling fine. I’ll feel a lot better if you can get me out of this basement.”
“Do you have the package?”
“Of course I have the package! I wouldn’t be looking for a ticket home without the goddamn package. What do I look like? An amateur?”
“How should I know? We’ve never met!”
“And we never will unless you find me a route out of here.”
“I’m trying. Trust me, I’m trying!”
Sarah could hear shouting in the kitchen. She tried to decipher what they were saying, but the walls were too thick. “Can you make any of that out?”
“I can make all of it out,” Garcia said. “Unfortunately, I can’t speak Russian so I don’t know what they’re saying.”
“Don’t you have software for that?”
“I can only do so much at once!”
“Fine,” she said stubbornly. “Then I’ll find a way out myself.”
“The kitchen is not an option,” he assured her. “There’s so much activity up there, I can’t even get an accurate count. You’ll have to find another way.”
“What about back through the vault? Maybe a ventilation shaft?”
“You know the schematics as well as I do,” Garcia said. “It’s an old house, but they refitted the basement with modern ventilation a few years back. There’s no way you’re fitting through a three-inch exhaust.”
“Maybe I won’t have to,” she said as her mind whirred through a list of possibilities. She had studied enough floor plans and security systems in her life to recognize the details that most people would miss. “I think I found another way.”
