A Soldier's Revenge: A Will Cochrane Novel (13 page)

T
om had been sent to bed, emotionally and mentally exhausted, pulling the drawstring on the back of his teddy so that the hidden device inside could activate its ten-minute sound recording operation. But he had no words to record, and just let the thing listen to empty air.

At the downstairs kitchen table, Robert and Celia were grasping undrunk mugs of coffee. Robert wanted to be angry about the situation. He wanted to be able to channel that anger into energy and leadership, but all that remained in him was a feeling that they had somehow let the twins down, giving them false hope by agreeing that Will could adopt them. He wished he could turn the clock back and say to Will, “No. You can’t father the boys. You’re not suitable because one day you’re going to murder a woman.”

Celia could sense her husband’s mood, though her thoughts were different. She recalled the way Will had spoken to them about his plans for the twins’ future. She’d sensed no malice in him. Nothing but a genuine desire to give the boys a stable, healthy, and loving future. He’d seemed like a good man; one who was carrying demons, for sure, but not someone who could do something as catastrophic as this. Perhaps her judgment was becoming more flawed with age; perhaps Will Cochrane had hidden his dark side from her.

“Can Faye find the strength?” she asked her husband in a voice that sounded as unreal as the thoughts in her head.

“With us by her side, I think she can.” Robert wasn’t looking at her or anything in particular. The normally in-control man now felt like a fish out of water.

Celia went to him and put her arms around him. “None of this is our fault. We have and will continue to look after the boys. And when we were real parents, we raised two fine daughters.”

“We were younger then and knew what we were doing. Things change.”

“You’re being too hard on us.”

Robert looked at his wife. “Faye
has
to be strong enough. I can’t have the boys going into foster care.”

“It will never come to that. Our daughters would step in if—”

“They’re up to their necks in their own kids, and mortgages, and every other responsibility under the sun. Their hearts would be in the right place, but no way do they have the resources to take on more responsibilities.”

Robert was right. Short of Will being miraculously found innocent, Faye and the Granges were the twins’ only hope.

Robert glanced at his watch. “Faye and Billy will be home any time now.”

The detective who was taking the night shift entered the room. “My colleague’s going to bed, though he’ll be up in a second if there’s need. I don’t want to disturb you folks, so is there a room I can use tonight?”

Celia answered, “You can use the living room. In fact, most downstairs rooms. Robert and I will just be using this room until bedtime.”

“Okay, ma’am. I’ll leave you alone in here. I might also be taking some walks around the property, checking perimeters. And I’ll have constant lines of communication with the squad car at the bottom of your lane. If Will Cochrane is out there, we will find him.”

CHAPTER 16

I
’d been in some of the most arduous situations and harshest environments in the world. The physical side of things can become excruciating. There comes a point when you feel like you’re wearing lead boots. Your back wants to give out. Not one part of you feels good. Adrenaline comes and goes. But it’s not enough without sufficient food and water. Keeping moving can be a relentless nightmare. Throw into the mix people who want to kill you, and it becomes a whole new ball game. I’ve seen men in these situations reach a breaking point. Some of them just sit down and wait for death. Doesn’t mean they’re weak. Everyone has a point where they can’t go on. None of us knows when that will happen.

I desperately wanted to rest.

But I couldn’t.

I walked through the rural countryside beyond Roanoke.

The main road leading to the Granges’ lane was one hundred yards to my left. I’d only driven up it once before. Back then, everything was different. New life ahead of me. Parenting. A challenge, for sure, but for once not one that required me to put my neck on the line. Two months earlier, the idea of adopting Billy and Tom hit me. It just made perfect sense.

The difference between my last visit to their home and now was vast.

I had a further ten miles to cover on foot. I quickened my pace.

Z
hukov approached the police squad car parked at the bottom of a long lane that headed up to the rise above the valley. He was calm and didn’t give a damn about personal danger. All that mattered was that things went according to plan. He knocked on the driver’s window and stepped back, raising his hands to show he meant no harm.

Two uniformed cops were inside. The one on the driver’s side partially lowered his window. “Yeah?”

Zhukov pointed back up the road and said in his lisping tone, “I’ve just hit a deer. It’s smashed up the front of my pickup. I’m about a mile back.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know we were here?”

Zhukov shrugged. “I didn’t. I waited for a while for some cars to pass by and help, but I didn’t see one vehicle in twenty minutes. So I decided to walk until I could find a house where I could call for help.”

“Why didn’t you call from your cell phone?”

“I don’t have one. I don’t permit them in my family, ever since my daughter got stalked on Instagram.”

“You got someone back there with you?”

“My wife and daughter. They’re in the vehicle, but scared. The engine won’t turn over, so they’ve got no heat.”

The cop on the passenger side got out of the vehicle but stayed close to it. “Your accent—you a foreigner?”

Zhukov shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m from Romania, but have all the necessary paperwork to be here. It’s in my pickup.”

“You got vehicle insurance?”

“Of course.”

The cop in the driver’s seat said, “We can’t drive far from here, but if you’re only a mile away that should be fine.” He got onto his radio and spoke to someone. “We’re leaving post for a few minutes because we’ve got a family in distress to deal with. Nothing suspicious. Road traffic accident. But we’ll be mobile and minutes away if needed.” He turned to Zhukov. “We’re just going to need to check you’re not carrying anything dangerous before we allow you in the car. You got a problem with that?”

Zhukov shook his head. “Not at all.”

The driver got out of the car. He glanced at his colleague standing on the other side of the vehicle. “I got this.” He looked at Zhukov. “Okay. Don’t be concerned. Just put your arms out straight and to the side. I’m going to search you just like the guys do at airports.”

Zhukov put on a fake look of fear. “I’ve just remembered I’ve got a steel wrench in my pocket. I was using it to try to lever open the pickup hood.”

To Zhukov’s joy, the officer replied, “That’s okay. Toss it on the ground, then put your arms out. Slowly though.” Both officers had a hand on their holsters.

The Russian reached into his pocket, grabbed the metal object, said, “I’m so glad I found you here,” and with lightning speed and accuracy pulled out his sound-suppressed pistol and shot both officers in the head.

I
had five miles left to the Granges’ home.

I guessed the twins would be in bed by now, possibly asleep. What mattered was that Robert and Celia were awake. But I had to approach with great care. I assumed the police knew about my missed appointment with the attorney in New York and the purposes of that meeting. Plus, I’d been sighted heading south from Philadelphia. Pair those two facts, and they’d know I was heading to the Granges’ place.

Cops would be monitoring their home. Though how was unclear.

Covertly observing the property from close proximity would be intensive and a diversion of valuable resources away from capturing me in open ground. More likely, they’d position a fast-response squad car close by and plant at least two detectives in the house.

I’d need to get past whichever one of them was on night duty.

F
aye had hated nighttime driving ever since she’d started to wear glasses. Intensified and distorted by her lenses, it was the glare from the headlights of oncoming vehicles that scared her, forcing her to urgently reduce speed. Three miles outside of Roanoke and with seventeen to go, thankfully, traffic was almost nonexistent. Still, she was driving at a snail’s pace.

“We’ll be home soon, Billy. It’s way past your bedtime, young man.”

In the back, Billy yawned. “Will Tom be in bed now?”

“Yes, he will. You’re lucky to be the one allowed up this late.” Faye bet Billy felt anything but lucky right now. But she was making light of their circumstances, and bizarrely, it was having a positive effect on her mood. Maybe this was the return to the get-on-with-it attitude that she had once shared with Celia. And if that was the case, she needed to keep being like this, even if it started as a charade. “I bet Tom didn’t get a burger the size of the one you had tonight.”

“Probably not.”

“Hey, I’ve got a special recipe for burgers. It uses fresh ground steak, eggs, crushed biscuit crackers, and herbs. Actually, in my recipe I add paprika, but we might hold back on that until you’re older. Want me to cook you and Tom my secret-recipe burgers sometime?”

“Sure.”

“And I cook really fabulous homemade fries.” She knew she was babbling but didn’t want there to be silence in the car. “I cut them chunky and double-fry them. Ten minutes on a low simmer, then drain them off and let them cool down. Then five minutes before eating, I refry them on a high heat to get them crispy. Sound yummy?”

“Why didn’t you cook the burgers and fries when we lived with you?”

The question gave Faye pause for thought. “Things were different then. I’m better now.”

“
Things
aren’t better now, though, are they?”

Faye glanced in her rearview mirror and saw a young boy who was scared, confused, angry, and sad. Quietly, she answered, “Not everything, no.”

Z
hukov had dragged the two dead cops off the road onto rough ground between trees.

The bodies would be easy to spot during daylight hours, but by then it wouldn’t matter. In any case, Zhukov wanted them to be found. It would further add to Cochrane’s misery. He walked over soft ground around the squad car, to make absolutely certain his footprints would be found. They were very special prints in boots that had been expertly modified. The soles’ size and markings exactly matched the bootprints found in Cochrane’s Waldorf room.

Fifteen minutes later his team and all three of their vehicles were around him, next to the road and five hundred yards away from the squad car that was still in position facing up the lane. Two of the former military men were wearing Roanoke city cop uniforms and insignia, along with the dead officers’ boots.

Zhukov changed clothes and said, “Showtime. And remember: only I use a gun.” He looked at the two fake cops. Their military expertise and demeanor made them perfect, because they not only looked like cops but could do what was necessary.

On foot, Zhukov and the two men walked to the police car. The uniformed men got in the front of the vehicle; Zhukov got in the rear and lowered his body so he couldn’t be seen through the windows. They drove up the lane, headlights off, engine noise minimal due to their slow speed. Around them, the valley was still and in near pitch darkness, the men relying on moonlight to navigate the narrow and increasingly steep track. It was only when they got to the rise of the valley that they put their headlights on.

“Okay, here we go,” said the driver. He parked the car outside the front of the Granges’ home.

Both fake cops got out of the car and waited alongside it, the engine still running.

Within seconds one of the detectives watching over the Granges exited the front door and sauntered over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” replied one of Zhukov’s men. “We’ve just taken over the night shift. Our colleagues had to return to the station. One of them had an urgent family crisis. We thought we’d come up here and take a peep. Nothing going on down the lane. Quiet as the grave.”

“You want coffee? I could do with some. We’ve got a long night ahead.”

The fake cops glanced at each other and shrugged their shoulders. One of them answered, “Can’t see why not. We’re just as much use up here. More so.”

“The Granges are getting ready for bed, so I’ve got access to the kitchen now. Come in.”

He turned and headed back to the house. Zhukov sprang out of the car, walked right up to the detective, and shot him twice in the head with his silenced handgun. He said nothing to his men. They knew exactly what they had to do. They got in the squad car and waited.

All was silent in the house as Zhukov rapidly entered and moved through the dwelling, his gun expertly held at eye level. He worked angles as he went from one room to another. He knew the precise layout of the house, having studied it with long-range day- and night-vision equipment. And he knew the exact ground-floor back bedroom where the second detective would be resting. Carefully, he turned the bedroom’s handle and eased the door open. The detective was by his bed, his back to Zhukov, shirtless and loosening his belt. One bullet smashed through his skull and sent blood and fragments of brain and bone onto the bedsheets. Zhukov shot him again.