Deadly Contact Read online

  It had been Tivik who had suggested transferring the video to high-definition digitized disk. The carefully preserved tape cassette, kept in a controlled environment in his studio situated beneath his country lodge, had still been in good condition and Tivik had engineered the transfer using expensive equipment Pavlic had financed. It allowed Tivik to make a pristine copy, even enhancing and cleaning up the images. The end result was a copy that clearly identified the conspirators.

  That copy was with him now and as long as he kept it away from Radin and the others, Pavlic felt reasonably secure.

  It was early evening when he boarded his flight to France. A certain sense of relief washed over him the moment the plane took off. He watched the lights below fade into the darkness.

  JATKO SPENT MOST OF THE afternoon attempting to track down Lec Pavlic. No one seemed to have any idea where he was. It was not until he managed to pull in his best IT operator that a picture began to emerge.

  Erik Dupré, French by birth, had worked for Jatko for three years. “Well, I have one piece of news you won’t like,” the computer operator said.

  Jatko shrugged. “The way today is going I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  “I accessed the financial database. Earlier today two million dollars U.S. was moved out of our accounts. I managed to follow the transactions only until they were diverted into unknown accounts. These cannot be accessed without passwords and account numbers. I will try again when I have more time.”

  “As soon as you are able, lock Pavlic out of our accounts. Change codes, passwords. I don’t want him taking any more of our money,” Jatko ordered. “Pavlic seems to have disappeared. He took a trip but left his car behind. A taxi perhaps?”

  Dupré thought for a moment, then turned to his keyboard, fingers busy. “I checked his phone records. A taxi was sent to his address late this afternoon. Destination the airport. I’ll check to see if he booked a ticket. If he did, he probably used a credit card. Shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”

  It took Dupré only a short time to locate Pavlic’s credit card account, using a backdoor program. He checked for the current listing and came up with Pavlic’s flight booking.

  “The good news is he’s using his own card. Now that I have details we can follow him wherever he goes. If he’s decided to run on the spur of the moment, he’ll have to use his current cards. There’s no way of changing them in the short term.”

  “The not so good news?” Jatko asked.

  “By now he’s an hour into his flight to Paris.” He wrote something on a slip of paper. “Flight number and arrival time.”

  “Damn,” Jatko said. “He’s moving fast. Erik, keep on him. We have his cell phone number, so monitor any calls he makes. I need to know where and when. Understand?”

  Dupré nodded.

  Jatko returned to the main office. He went directly to Radin’s desk and picked up one of the phones, tapping in a number. While he waited for it to connect he spoke to Radin.

  “He’s on his way to Paris. Flight left an hour ago.”

  His call was answered. “Yes? Berko? Listen, he’s on his way to you.” He recited the flight number and touchdown time Dupré had given him. “Tail him for now. We’ll decide what to do next.” Jatko hung up the phone. “We’re tracking him,” he said, smiling, and Medusku, watching from the far side of the room, felt a chill. He had seen that expression before, and it was anything but pleasant. “In the meantime I think we should pick up Tivik. See what he has to say.”

  6

  Bolan’s cell phone rang. It was Barbara Price.

  “We accessed Tira Malivik’s e-mail program and found the message from her uncle. He told her to make sure the package he mailed to her was kept safe. There was information in it that could identify a group of people, including himself, who was responsible for a crime in Bosnia over ten years ago. Those people knew he’d taped the incident and they’re after him. The evidence could identify them all, including a couple of Americans. His plan was to get to the U.S. and collect the disk from Tira.”

  “Those people got to Tira first. And they connected Erika because Tira had spoken to her,” Bolan said.

  “That looks like the way it happened. We checked those names. You were right about Kimble. He did wet work for hire. But this is where it gets interesting. The name Billingham threw up a few leads, but the most likely is Thorne Billingham. Big in U.S. and international finance. Construction. Arms industry. Has friends in D.C. He’s well connected. You name it, Billingham is there. He has links to Bosnia. He was involved in the reconstruction period after the conflict, around 1995. There was a lot of money thrown around then. And there were opportunities to make the kind of alliances that built careers.”

  “You figure Pavlic and Billingham have a past together?” Bolan asked.

  “Yes. Pavlic is a moneyman, part of a conglomerate that came together just as the Bosnia conflict ended. We’ve got a couple more names as well. Milos Radin, a tough cookie by all accounts. He runs the Bosnian arm of the group and is a buddy of Billingham, it seems. Maric Jatko runs security for Radin. Ex-secret police type. Nothing nice in his file. I’d put him down as one of the really bad guys.”

  “Keep me informed, Barb,” Bolan said.

  “That sounds suspiciously like you have something planned.”

  “I’m working on it. Just keep me posted on updates.”

  “Will do.”

  “Do one more thing. I need to talk to Jack. Soon.” He ended the call.

  Dukas had been listening to Bolan’s end of the conversation, putting her own slant on what she’d heard. “I’m assuming there’s nothing good coming from that conversation?”

  “Some pointers as to who might be involved. And the fact that the package is the key. The people who went after Tira want it back. Badly enough to kill to get it. They figure you can lead them to it.”

  “Knowing where Tira sent it, I can. And that puts me smack in the middle of this.”

  “Then I need to get to it first.”

  “No. We need to get to it. Don’t you even think about leaving me behind, Cooper. Do that, and I’ll be on the next plane to Maple Lake.”

  “I’m too tired to argue. I guess you’ve earned the right to come along. We’ll go and collect the package.”

  “Who do we call once we have the package? The cops? FBI?” Dukas asked.

  Bolan shook his head.

  “Intel suggests the U.S. end of this group has connections that go deep. That could include law enforcement and agency people. So until we know better we don’t trust anyone out of our circle.”

  Dukas stared at Bolan. “Not so long ago my life was pretty simple. Now I’m in X-Files country. I’ve been kidnapped. Had to shoot someone and run for my life. This might be a normal day at the office for you, but it surely isn’t for me.”

  Bolan nodded and squeezed her shoulder gently.

  “So how about that trip to Colorado, Miss Dukas? I hear it’s quiet this time of year.”

  7

  “You have a good flight?”

  Thorne Billingham, Milos Radin’s American counterpart, watched the man as he entered the main cabin of the expansive motor cruiser. The cabin was luxuriously appointed, with smooth wood and hand-crafted leather.

  While Radin was still in his suit, even wearing a tie, Billingham sported light, casual wear. The bright shirt hung easily on his hard body. Physically, they were alike. Tall men, powerfully built, they carried themselves with the ruthless assurance of total confidence in their abilities and the way they controlled their affairs.

  Billingham was aware of a crisis, but nothing had been said when Radin had called to say he was on his way. Billingham had arranged for a vehicle to take Radin and his party from the landing strip west of Miami to the marina.

  Radin looked fresh despite the long flight, though Billingham noticed faint shadows beneath his eyes. Radin settled in one of the comfortable leather recliners.

  As the motor cruiser
eased away from the busy marina and headed out into the Gulf. Billingham sat down, facing his partner. “I’m listening,” he said.

  “Lec Pavlic had someone filming the executions. He has us all on tape. We found out by sheer luck. Jatko stumbled onto it. We checked it out, and it has now been fully confirmed. Before we pinned it down, Pavlic disappeared. We tracked him to France, then found out he had taken a flight here to the U.S. Jatko got to Pavlic’s partner, Hac Tivik, the man who made the tape, and they extracted a confession. They also located the original tape, but it seemed that a copy had been digitalized and burned onto a disk. The disk was couriered to an address in Washington, to Pavlic’s niece, Tira Malivik.”

  Billingham received the news with a degree of calm that impressed Radin. The American pushed to his feet and went to the bar where he poured himself a tumbler of bourbon, then resumed his seat.

  “You’ve seen the tape?”

  “Yes. Every one of us is clearly identified,” Radin said.

  “Did you keep the tape?”

  “Once it was confirmed as genuine I destroyed it myself. I wasn’t about to take the chance it might fall into the wrong hands.”

  “This cameraman. How did you deal with him?”

  “Jatko persuaded him to talk. I am satisfied that the only copies of the evidence, apart from the disk Pavlic has, were the ones he hid in his cellar studio under his lodge.”

  “All that was dealt with?”

  “It appears there was an unfortunate fire at Tivik’s lodge. It was totally destroyed. Tivik’s body would have been found in the ashes.”

  “Good. Now, who came with you?” Billingham asked.

  “Jatko, of course. Eric Dupré. He is our IT expert. Brilliant with computers. He will be extremely useful. Jatko brought his two top security people. And Karel Medusku. I left Malik back home to watch over things.”

  “Why have you brought Medusku?”

  Radin leaned back in his chair.

  “He’s not handling this well. The day after we met to discuss the matter he had a confrontation with Pavlic. I think it’s what caused Pavlic to run. It ruined our chance of dealing with him quietly. I feel safer having Medusku close by so we can watch him.”

  “Then we keep watching him, Milos. If he constitutes any danger, we deal with him. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  Billingham went quiet for a time, his mind working busily.

  “Pavlic. You never do know about people,” he said. “I always had him down as a sly son of a bitch, but I never figured him to be so imaginative.”

  “He had us all fooled. Not just about the tape,” Radin said.

  “Christ, what else has he been up to?”

  “Jatko found out he was manipulating assets. Working on his own. He set up dummy accounts and siphoned off large cash amounts. Over four million. We have been unable to access those accounts.”

  “He probably decided we couldn’t touch him even if we found out,” Billingham said, “I take it Pavlic is in the video himself?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s let more than ten years pass without stepping forward as a witness against us. Do you see him as a martyr risking prison by admitting he was part of it? And as someone who has profited as well?”

  “Not really,” Radin said.

  Billingham smiled. “Pavlic has backed himself into a corner. Caught whichever way he wriggles.” He rose, striding across to stare out across the lazy swell of the Gulf. “Ten years,” he said, for the first time allowing bitterness to creep in. “Ten fucking good years and still getting better. Has Pavlic got any idea how deeply I’m tied to alliances and deals? The people I run with? Especially Ramsey Granger. He’s going to flip when I tell him his face is on that film along with the rest of us. Milos, I’m damned if I’m going to let that little prick Pavlic ruin it all. He’ll give up that evidence before we bury him. And that is a promise I’ll keep.”

  Granger Industries, California

  “MY GOD, THORNE, THIS WILL damage my organization if it comes out. You know the level of government I deal with. My company has a high-profile relationship with the military. If it comes out I built my business on the proceeds of money stolen from the Bosnian reconstruction funding a lot of people could fall. Some of them way over my head. Christ, think of the favors given. Campaign funding taken from the postconflict pot. It would feed the media for months.”

  “Ramsey, we went into this with our eyes wide open. We did the deed,” Billingham said.

  “Don’t fucking remind me, Thorne. I know what we did. We all got our hands bloodied that day. What I didn’t expect was Pavlic filming it for prime time on Sixty Minutes.” Granger drew a breath. “You know what galls me? The times I’ve had that asshole as a dinner guest at my home. He sat there eating my food and joking with me, and all the time he had that tape. I guess I have to give him brownie points for his nerve.”

  “Ramsey, we’re closing in on him. One way or another we’re going to get our hands on that disk and Pavlic.”

  “Just listen for a minute,” Granger snapped. “I can back any move you make. Let me know what you need. Men, equipment, anything. Find Pavlic. We need that disk.”

  “We’re on it, Ramsey. As soon as we have definite information, I’ll pass it along.”

  Granger hung up. He was sweating. He was just glad Billingham couldn’t see that. Bravado over the telephone was one thing. In truth he was nervous. Ten years on, and so much had happened. They had all gained status and wealth, cultivated relationships that had enriched their lives. Granger walked the corridors of power in Washington, in London, in Paris. He knew people. If the sordid details came out about that day of…it had been so long since he had even thought about it he found it hard to put a word to the act.

  Murder?

  Slaughter?

  A necessary execution?

  However it was described, it wouldn’t sit comfortably within Granger’s circles. It didn’t take a great deal to imagine the expressions on the faces of his friends.

  He sat back, gently drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk, his thoughts spinning wildly. He stayed where he was until he felt certain about what to do.

  He picked up the phone and tapped a number.

  “Lee, I want you in my office now.”

  Lee Marker was tall and lean, with a pale-eyed stare that could unnerve anyone he directed it to. He was Granger’s closest ally and totally loyal when it came to carrying out his employer’s orders.

  “Close the door, Lee. Sit down. A serious problem has come up and we need some decisive action if we’re going to come through it. I’m going to put you in the picture first. When I’m done we need a solution,” Granger said.

  Marker listened as Granger detailed everything, from the 1995 incident to the current situation. When Granger finished Marker was silent for a few seconds. Granger watched him closely, trying to fathom what was going through the man’s mind.

  “Lee?”

  “I knew I did the right thing when I joined up with you. I just never realized how right. Ramsey, you are one son of a bitch.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now what do we do?”

  “I know what I’d do. First get hold of that disk—”

  “And destroy it?”

  “Hell, no, boss. Keep it. We turn it against every mother in the consortium. Use it to keep them in line. Make them dance to your tune. How many times have I heard you say you’re sick of the way they operate? Here’s your chance. As soon as Thorne comes up with a location, we get our people into place. We take charge of the disk and back off. Secure the item in a safe place and call a meeting.”

  Marker sat back and waited. A thin smile edged Granger’s lips. “Seems reasonable to me.” He gave Marker a slight nod. “Do it, Lee. If there’s collateral damage, well, these things happen.”

  Granger’s confidence was shaken when he received the call from Billingham, informing him that Tira Malivic was dead and worse, the snatch team th
at had taken her friend, Erika Dukas, had been wiped out by a lone individual who had released her. Billingham said the pair had vanished.

  Washington, D.C.

  THE NEWS OF HIS NIECE’S DEATH stunned Pavlic. He sat in his hotel room and watched the news coverage, and knew that her death was his fault. There were mentions of a second body in the apartment and a live individual secured to a radiator. He was not sure what that meant. The Washington Police Department would make no further comment.

  He sat for some time staring at the television screen after he had switched off, trying to make some kind of sense out of events. It seemed obvious that his flight from Sarajevo was the catalyst of the whole affair. His journey to Paris, then Washington, had been monitored, and somehow Radin’s people had connected him to Tira. Radin would have informed Billingham, who could have easily arranged for the follow-up. Buy it off, or destroy it. Pavlic had seen the signs over the past months as close associates in the consortium had been removed as their usefulness waned, and it had been in that atmosphere of creeping unease that he had found his own existence becoming less secure…and another name came to mind.

  Ramsey Granger.

  The other American who had been with Billingham on that fateful day. If Billingham was powerful and dangerous, Granger was worse. Once he entered the equation—and Pavlic knew he would—the stakes would become even higher and Pavlic’s life would be worth less than nothing. Pavlic knew Granger on a professional and personal basis. He had met the man on many trips to the U.S., and the one thing he had learned was that Ramsey Granger was dangerous.

  Pavlic made a couple of calls to contacts back in Sarajevo. It didn’t take long to get the answers he needed, and they verified his worst fears.