Baksheesh (Bribes) Read online

  BAKSHEESH

  (BRIBES)

  BOOK 5 IN THE SPIES LIE SERIES

  D. S. KANE

  Copyright © 2015 D. S. Kane

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-0-9862321-2-1 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-0-9862321-4-5 (Kindle)

  ISBN 978-0-9862321-3-8 (ePub)

  Cover design by Jeroen Ten Berge [www.jeroentenberge.com]

  eBook editions and Print layout by eBooks By Barb for booknook.biz

  Praise for DS Kane’s Spies Lie Series

  Bloodridge

  “A globe-trotting spy thriller dense with intriguing insider’s knowledge.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “I thoroughly enjoyed this book … It is definitely a page-turner.”

  —Judge, 22nd Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards on Bloodridge

  “This is a sizzler torn straight from tomorrow’s headlines. Bloodridge by D.S. Kane is one you won’t want to miss.”

  —John Reinhard Dizon, author of Nightcrawler and Wolf Man

  “What a wild ride! Filled with adventure and suspense and kept me on the edge of my seat. There wasn’t a slow moment in it. Reminiscent of Ludlum and Follett.”

  —Sharon Law Tucker, Author, How To Be A BadAss, A Survival Guide For Women

  DeathByte

  “Readers who adore action-packed thrillers in the vein of Robert Ludlum’s Bourne series will enjoy its many double-crossings.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on DeathByte

  “This was a great thriller … and the speed of the plot was breathtaking.”

  —Judge, 22nd Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards on DeathByte

  Swiftshadow

  “A must read for lovers of this genre.”

  —Sheri A. Wilkinson, book blogger

  The “Spies Lie” Series by DS Kane:

  Bloodridge, Book 1 (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K0029J0)

  A globe-trotting spy thriller dense with intriguing insider’s knowledge.” —Kirkus Reviews

  (https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/ds-kane/bloodridge/)

  DeathByte, Book 2

  (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L2LLKSC)

  “A dizzying spy story for readers with clear minds and steely constitutions.” —Kirkus Reviews

  https://www.kirkusreviews.com/indie/dashboard/review/deathbyte/

  Swiftshadow, Book 3

  (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MJ5KXKG)

  GrayNet, Book 4

  (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00P8HRT9U)

  Baksheesh (Bribes), Book 5

  …with more to come.

  For the ActFourWriter.com critique and writers workshop,

  including Dennis Phinney, Linda Rohrbough,

  Brenda Barrie, Janet Simcic, Aaron Ritchey,

  Caryn Scotto, Liz Picco, Julia Reynolds,

  Daniel Houston, Steve Eggleston, Juliann Kauffman,

  Teri Gray, Carl Vondareu, Claudia Melendez,

  Megan Edwards, and Judy Whitmore.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1 • CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3 • CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5 • CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7 • CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9 • CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11 • CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13 • CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15 • CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17 • CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19 • CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21 • CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23 • CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25 • CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27 • CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29 • CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31 • CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33 • CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35 • CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37 • CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39 • CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41 • CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43 • CHAPTER 44

  Glossary

  Appendix A – Character List

  for the Spies Lie series (alphabetical)

  Bonus

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events depicted here are the work of the author’s mind. Most but not all of the places are real.

  “Before you embark on a journey of revenge,

  dig two graves.”

  —Confucius, 551–479 BC

  CHAPTER 1

  December 4, 7:33 a.m.

  220 East Kirke Street,

  Chevy Chase, Maryland

  She sat in the kitchen, exhausted and in pain. In the bleak November dawn, the sun was rising rosy, blurred by clouds, peeking through the window in an otherwise sleet-gray sky.

  She’d refused painkillers since they dimmed her ability to think.

  Her reflection in the mirror played off the bullet hole stitched together on her cheek, glowing red.

  Cassandra Sashakovich looked at her boyfriend, Lee, then at her adopted daughter, Ann. The pain in her heart mirrored the pain from her torn face.

  Her mind wandered briefly through the last year, how she’d been forced to run for her life, being chased by people who needed her dead and would do anything to have her head severed from her neck.

  Life for her would never again be safe. Before she’d realized this, she’d become the adoptive mother of a teenaged girl, assumed ownership of a stray cat, bought a house, gone from being a government employee of an intelligence agency to a rich and powerful woman who headed a mercenary consulting force. But then, she’d made some colossal mistakes. As a result, she’d been hunted.

  She inhaled the wonderful aroma of the coffee in her cup.

  Stalling.

  Her broken face showed surprise at the man kneeling before her.

  She was nearly thirty years old, athletic, but damaged in so many ways. She drew one hand through her short brown hair, considering his offer. The close-range gunshot wound from an assassin just a week ago throbbed as she tried to move her mouth.

  Her face was scheduled for months of reconstructive surgeries, complex and painful.

  Lee Ainsley, her boyfriend, knelt, holding up the tiny ring with its miniature diamond in his hand, offering it to her. He seemed to sense the tsunami of emotions overpowering her. Feelings mixed with logic, pointing in every direction away from what she truly wanted.

  He grinned slyly, like a child who’d waited too long for Christmas. “What’s your answer? Cassandra Sashakovich, I’m hopelessly in love with you. Please marry me.”

  Her eyes had popped wide open the first time he asked. Now, she tried to speak but her lips wouldn’t move.

  She’d shown him her heart, her only private place where thought had no currency.

  She forced herself to moisten her lips through the pain, preparing to speak. The voice inside her head told her not to try and sort all of it out before she answered him.

  Time to feel? Time to think?

  She realized there wasn’t time to sort this out properly. Cassie tried thinking anyway, since—for her—thinking always happened before any action. She wondered what she really wanted. Of course she wanted Lee. And the voice in the back of her head stated bluntly that having Lee would be dangerous for him. She wasn’t safe. No one with her could ever be safe.

  Now, what she had originally dreamed of, being wanted and loved by an intelligent, good-looking man, was about to become her dream come true. But Lee had been targeted for death because of her. Accepting his proposal would only exaggerate his peril. And Ann, her adopted daughter, would be at greater risk with both her and Lee as choke points. Furthermore, it would be so much easier for any enemies of Cassie to use her family as leverage against her. Yet, if she declined, she’d acknowled
ge that her enemies had succeeded in destroying her life.

  Cassie sighed. It was a lose-lose situation.

  Her heart leaped at the sight of the miniscule ring. Where had he bought it? When had he had time? It had to have been just before he was picked up by the FBI and taken to Guantanamo Bay; it was so small that he’d probably bought it the day after they’d left the Israeli embassy in Washington, DC.

  Cassie realized, ohmigod, he’s been planning this for months.

  She heard Ann tiptoe down the stairs. She saw the teen’s reflection, watching from just beyond the kitchen doors, facing Cassie’s back. Ann’s ragged hair had been dyed back to its natural mousy brown, from the purple and pink she’d colored it to disguise herself when she ran from a Saudi assassin weeks ago. Ann held Gizmo, their small black kitten in her arms. She smiled. “Do it, Mom,” she whispered.

  Time to choose.

  CHAPTER 2

  December 4, 7:48 a.m.

  220 East Kirke Street,

  Chevy Chase, Maryland

  Through the pain in her mouth she slowly formed the words. “Lee, I love you. You know that. But if I say yes you’ll have to quit your job with the agency, and we’ll have to move away somewhere we can’t be found. We’ll need to become our own witness protection group. And, since we’re nearly broke, we’ll need a way to do this on the cheap. Maybe sell The Swiftshadow Group to Shimmel to raise the cash first. Are you sure this is okay with you?”

  Lee nodded. “I’ve already thought all of this through. Family first. Us together. All of us. I spoke with Ann and told her what I was going to do. She can handle this. I can handle this. So the question is, can you? Will you? Marry me?”

  He used the blunt questions once again like weapons. She found her feelings overpowering her ability to inject logic into the situation. Tears began to form and fall from the corners of her eyes.

  There would be more questions to answer, more things to plan, a mountain of tasks to do. First, get The Swiftshadow Group ready to sell. That would take a few months. But that was for tomorrow. Being a family had been her dream. It was now her reality. She nodded her head. “Yes, I love you. Yes, I’m in love with you. Yes, I’ll marry you and be your bride.” She pointed her finger back at him. “But to prove your commitment I want you to resign from the agency immediately. Do something less dangerous. Or do nothing at all. And, as I said, as soon as we can, we’ll have to relocate and change our identities. It may take a few months. Do you agree?”

  Lee nodded, gently reaching out for her left hand. He quickly slipped the ring on her finger, as if rushing before she changed her mind.

  But, she drew him to her. Held him hard against her, then kissed his lips gently, despite the pain. In seconds, Ann was with them, holding Gizmo and hugging them both.

  They were a family now.

  CHAPTER 3

  December 4, 9:12 a.m.

  Russian mafiya eastern district office,

  Vladivostok, Russia

  Nikita Tobelov sat behind the old steel desk in his office on the top floor of the warehouse at the end of the wharf. He cursed and tossed the nearly empty coffee cup against the corrugated wall.

  The picture of Achmed Houmaz stared back at him from his computer screen. The caption read, “Director of OPEC Killed.” According to the story, the body of Houmaz was found on the ruined pier in Boston with one of his arms shot off at the shoulder, a handgun still held by the severed limb.

  Tobelov was sure she’d killed Houmaz, the bitch. He got up from his chair and found another cup, into which he poured some coffee. Relax. She is now beyond your ability to execute. But that uncle of hers isn’t. Tobelov tried to remember the uncle’s name. Misha. Misha Kovich. He’d be a soft target.

  Tobelov launched a program on his computer and requested the purchase of some very specific weapons, ones bought only by those who had intimate contacts with former KGB agents, now working in Russia’s Federal Security Bureau, or FSB, in Moscow Center.

  A former Soviet agent, now an independent arms dealer working mostly for the Russian mafiya, Kovich would be eager to provide these weapons. When he delivered them, Tobelov would have him executed. Tobelov even knew where he could resell the weapons for maximum profit.

  He smiled, thinking, maybe I’ll send his head in a box to Sashakovich, just as Houmaz had wanted her own head delivered to him.

  * * *

  Cassie’s mind jumped from one issue to another. She put the coffee cup down, pacing. In seconds, she forgot where she’d placed it. By the time she found the mug, she’d forgotten what it was she was thinking about. Damn! Head wounds will do that.

  Ann handed the coffee cup to her. “Jeez, Mom. Your brain’s in deep freeze. Get a grip.”

  Cassie tried to remember what she was thinking. She reached onto the kitchen countertop and picked up a pen and a pad. The only way she could remember anything was to write it down:

  Have Lee take me to hospital for surgery this afternoon

  Get Ann and Lee ready for trip to Boston—need attorney

  Call my parents and Lee’s

  Wedding plans

  Research a safer place to live

  New identities for us all

  New guitar

  She shook her head. “Too long. I don’t have the energy for this.” Her mind wandered to the last item. Guitar. Something she lost when she fled from Washington so long ago. It would provide her with a chance to improve her hand-eye coordination and her ability to master longer thought interactions. Therapy she sorely needed.

  Ann grabbed the list from her hand. “I’ll help out. You get ready to go to the hospital.” Before Cassie could object, Ann and the list were gone out the door. Lee was waiting in the agency’s Ford Escape Hybrid SUV in the driveway.

  Cassie realized she was still in her robe. She padded up the stairs and dressed in clothing she could easily remove: a blouse with buttons that wouldn’t force her to push her head through its neck.

  As she waited for Lee to return from dropping Ann at school, she examined the ring. So tiny. This should be the finest moment in her life. She knew she loved him. But marrying him was such a big step and so dangerous for him. But, he wanted her with all her baggage. He loved her! She smiled and hummed a blues tune as she waited for him to take her to the hospital.

  Twenty minutes later, her to-do list in her hand, she flinched as Lee hit a pothole. It occurred to her to see what her bank balance was and she turned on her cellphone. She logged into her bank’s website. Less than a week ago, she had over two billion dollars. But paying those who’d saved her life had used most of it.

  Still, there was plenty. Over two million. There was one thing on her hit list she decided to take care of right now. The day she’d fled her Washington apartment after the agency fired her, she’d left her Martin D-18 guitar, her joy, worth about two thousand dollars, when she’d escaped death that miserable day.

  Lee pulled into a parking space and touched her hand. They smiled at each other. “Thanks for the lift.”

  He nodded and walked around to open her door. As he closed the SUV’s door, she realized she was already exhausted. Would playing guitar really improve her stamina?

  Cassie pulled up the website for Musician’s Friend and examined their selection of guitars. Hundreds of them: acoustic, electric, arch-top acoustic-electrics, resonators. She wanted something durable, a metal-body guitar. Something that would be heat and ding resistant, playable either with or without an amplifier. She found one she liked, a Rogue bell-brass body, chrome-plated monster. From further researching guitarist opinions posted about it, she thought it would fit her playing style. Set up properly, this would be the perfect accompaniment to her bluesy style of playing and singing. She bought it and two cases: one for the guitar and one that she could have modified to fit her Ruger Mini-14 silenced automatic.

  * * *

  Cassie sat up in bed, her mouth feeling like it was on fire as the anesthesia wore off. Registered as Rachel Simpson, an ide
ntity her hacking guru, William Wing, had constructed for her, she watched her bodyguards patrolling the hallway outside her room.

  Cassie worried about Ann and Lee, now preparing for the teen’s murder inquest in Boston. She hoped that Ann’s meeting with the prosecutor would be a non-event.

  She was relieved her mind felt sharper, for the first time since she was shot. Cassie ran a few mental exercises to hone her thinking, but her stamina ran out fast. Her mind functioned perfectly, but only for a few minutes. The zazen exercise lasted twenty seconds in mindfulness before she drifted out of focus. Now she was dog-tired.

  The plastic surgeon, Dr. Henry Sheldorf, entered her room and grabbed her chart. “Well, Ms. Simpson—or should I call you Denise Hardcastle, or maybe Ms. Sashakovich?—I did my best to repair the damage to your left cheek. But there just isn’t enough material for me to fix you.”

  She gulped. “What does that mean?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll need to graft from someplace else. Please lift the hospital gown. I need to examine the skin on your thighs.”

  He traced his finger against the supple skin and pinched it gently. Looking away from her, he wrote something on the chart. “This might do, but you’ll show scarring on your cheek because the flesh is darker on your face than on your thigh. You’ll also have a scar here. He pointed to the spot near her crotch. “Not such a big deal for your thigh to be scarred. It’ll only show in a bathing suit. But your face, well, it’s not going to be very pretty.”

  “Can we use this opportunity to change my entire face?”

  “We can. It would look better and give me some freedom to work. I assume you don’t want to be recognized.”

  “Yes. I want you to change my face to keep the agency from being able to track me. Make me look different from when you altered my face the first time. And I’ll have to ask you to sign a document that keeps you from sharing my new appearance without my express written consent.”

  “Yes, of course, I can do that. Even better, I can destroy your files when we part. What would you like to look like?”