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Leo nodded, straightening in his seat. “Kusma’s strength is his IQ. He’s extremely smart and cunning. He’s also charismatic. This plays a huge part in his ability to gain loyalty. People listen to him, they trust him, completely unaware that he is actually manipulating them. I compared him to Hitler in my profile.”
“That’s a hell of a comparison.”
Leo’s brow cocked with warning. “It’s not far off. Don’t underestimate him, Justin. He is what we call an organized offender—every detail of everything he does is well thought-out. The data we collected from his kill sites suggested that he planned for months, sometimes years in advance. A lot like Bin Laden with 9/11.”
“And his weaknesses?”
“His ego, and now his age. I would assume that Kusma is not nearly as mobile as he was twenty years ago. He’s around sixty now—he was in his thirties during his heyday in Russia. This makes me think he’s likely to have chosen a headquarters of sorts for his work, probably a protégé as well, to take over when he dies.”
Leo drained the dregs of his Lemon Drop.
“As for the women in his life ... for Kusma, the more the merrier. This taps into that ego I mentioned. Sophia is one of Kusma’s many wives. He likes them very young. The last woman he took into his harem was just sixteen years old. Rumor is Kusma gains their commitment and loyalty in the same way he obtains it from his enemies—through intimidation, fear, and torture, both emotional and physical. He’s been known to use his women to lure in his rivals, where he then kills them—both the rivalandthe decoy. Women are nothing but sexual pleasures and pawns in his brutal game.”
“If that’s true, Sophia should be more than willing to deliver his location when I find her.”
“You don’t understand. The women are loyal for a reason. It’s likely that he has not only threatened to kill them, but probably also every living relative in their family tree. He has something on her, no doubt about it, and unless she’s willing to let that go, she’s stuck with him, doing whatever he asks, whenever he asks it.” Leo considered his empty martini glass. “The threat of losing someone you love can be enough to make anyone do things they never thought they’d do.”
A moment of silence ticked between us as he looked up, studying me closely.
“Normally, I’d feel inclined to advise you to keep your focus on the job and nothing else. Sophia ... she’s a beautiful woman. Alluring.” He tilted his head to the side. “But I understand women are not your weakness. Your ice-cold reputation precedes you.”
“And what is my weakness?”
After waving away the waitress, he refocused on me. “I knew your brother.”
“Did you?” I deadpanned.
“Yes.” His gaze flickered to the scar on my face. “He was a good man. A better operator.”
I stood and tossed back the rest of my coffee. “Thank you, Mr. Hogan. I’ll be in touch.”
5
Justin
Welcome to Falcon Creek
The snow-covered wooden sign was almost unreadable. Long, gangly icicles hung from its bottom, disappearing into a snowdrift that had gathered beneath it.
The sign was tucked among crowded spruce trees that lined the road, their long, feathered branches bending under the weight of the snow, their tops bowing as if a soldier accepting defeat. Above them, a blanket of gray clouds loomed overhead, unmoving and relentless, spitting out snowflakes that swirled in an icy wind howling outside the windows.
It was a frigid, miserable afternoon.
Leo wasn’t kidding. The drive took twice as long as anticipated. The farther north I drove, the worse the conditions became. I’d stopped twice to help tourists stranded on the side of the road, allowing them to use my SAT phone to call for help. The cell service was shit, indeed.
I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live in such a remote—therefore dangerous—location. Falcon Creek was truly a blip in the middle of rugged mountains and dense wilderness.
It made me even more curious about the story behind Sophia’s decision to settle in that exact spot. There were no businesses, no houses, just a desolate pitted two-lane road that cut through miles of evergreens. I also noticed there were no cars in the area. Every vehicle I’d passed was either an SUV, a truck, or a side-by-side. The people here were geared up for survival.
The “town” of Falcon Creek was basically a short strip of buildings on either side of the highway, consisting of a gas station that doubled as a food market—the only source of groceries—a diner, and a hole-in-the-wall bar in a log tavern that looked like it was one huff and puff away from falling down.
That’s it.
I assumed the citizens (all five hundred of them) drove into Anchorage once a week for their groceries, doctor appointments, errands, whatever, because no one could live off this town alone. I made a mental note to ask Leo about Sophia’s footprint in Anchorage—how often did she go, who were her doctors, did she visit anyone while there?
It was three in the afternoon by the time I arrived in town, though heavy cloud cover made it look much later. I pulled into the local eatery, named Creek House Diner, and parked facing the side of the building between two jacked-up trucks.
I cut the engine, grabbed my duffel from the back, and set it in the passenger seat. The most important part of every job was adapting to your surroundings. Step one of that personal adaptation was changing clothes.
