AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was 8:30 a.m. when we arrived, and we only had to wait a minute or so before one of the residents opened the front door of Dinara’s block and allowed us in while he headed out for work. We passed through a simple lobby and climbed some dingy stairs to the fourth floor.
As we walked toward the apartment, I was surprised to see an old woman sitting in the corridor, reading a book. She was on a battered old folding garden chair, had a mismatched table beside her and was surrounded by pot plants.
“Going to make it tricky to break in,” West observed. “Maybe I can distract her?”
I nodded, but the woman made it clear there was to be no distraction when she started yelling at us angrily.
West replied in Russian, his tone soothing and conciliatory.
“She says we better not be here for more trouble. The last gang smashed Dinara’s door in and broke this lady’s chair.”
“You are Americans, yes?” the woman said in broken English. “They smash my chair. I don’t like this one so much.”
As we came closer, I saw the door frame was splintered, and a roughly fitted padlock secured the door to it.
“Did you see the people who did this?” I asked.
“Your name?” the woman replied haughtily.
“Jack Morgan. Dinara works for me.”
“Then you are a very bad man,” she said, rising indignantly from her rickety chair. “This woman needs a husband and babies, not to be working all God’s hours.”
“Did you see the men who did this?” West asked.
She fixed us with a disapproving stare.
“Dinara is in danger,” I said. “We’re the only people who can help her.”
She hesitated and then sat down and reached under the chair for her phone.
“I have photos,” she revealed. “After they broke my chair and took her away, I got pictures of them and their transport from my window so I could make a police report. But the police don’t want to know. Maybe you can help.”
She opened her phone and swiped through a series of photos that showed two grey UAZ Patriot SUVs and a matching UAZ-452 van with blacked-out windows parked not too far fromwhere we’d left the Land Rover. A group of half a dozen men were crowded around Dinara, who was in restraints, and a series of sequential pictures showed her being forced into the back of the van.
“Can I have copies of these?” I asked.
The woman shrugged and I AirDropped them onto my phone.
I pointed out a detail to West.
“License plates,” I said.
He nodded.
“If you find Dinara, tell her Mrs. Minsky helped,” the old woman said.
“I will. Thank you, Mrs. Minsky,” I replied while hurrying toward the stairs. “We’ve got faces and plates,” I said to West, who jogged alongside me. “We can find these guys.”
CHAPTER 88
WE RETURNED TO the Land Rover, and West reached into the glove compartment for a communicator that looked like a satellite phone. I guessed it was an Echelon machine, used by the CIA for secure comms, and wondered whether he was just a Marine or whether he moonlighted for the agency. Was he moonlighting now?
He placed a call which was answered moments later.
“Mom, me and Cousin Lenny have got some great souvenir photos. Do you know anywhere that could process them?” he said.
He listened for a moment.
