DEADLY DRIVER, Page 24

The doctors in the hospital had reset her broken arm and given her pain pills, but she was trying her best to not take them unless absolutely necessary. Instead, she searched her bag for the sleep aids she had relied on during her years of red-eye and overseas flights. While she waited for the concoction of vodka and two pills to kick in, she couldn’t help reliving all that had happened to her in Singapore.

  Chadwick had been an animal. He seemed to enjoy her every painful moment.

  She remembered the beast forcing her down the hall and out through an emergency exit to a van that was waiting nearby the hotel’s deserted delivery dock. It was a faded red minivan of some kind, without windows. The driver was Asian but avoided eye contact with her as Chadwick shoved her through the side door and climbed in behind her. He pushed her down, making it impossible for her to see anything. She felt the stops, starts, lefts, and rights of Singapore traffic.

  The van eventually pulled into a garage, and the door closed behind them. Then Chadwick helped her out of the van and led her to an office where she was tied to a chair, gagged, and left to watch Singapore television for hours until he came back with food and water. Once the TV was turned off, she lost all sense of time.

  Later, Chadwick made the video, knocking her to the ground, breaking her arm. He’d left her there sobbing in pain for some time before righting the chair and shoving painkillers in her mouth, with water. She didn’t know if he was being sympathetic to her plight or was just tired of hearing her groan. Every six hours or so he untied her and let her use the dirty bathroom off the office. But he insisted the door remain open while she was in there.

  She remembered the incredible pain she’d felt when he forced her arm into a makeshift sling, but once he realized it was of no use to her, he simply tied her good arm to a water pipe that rose up out of the floor. Hours became days, and as the sun set through the high windows of the office, too high for anyone to peer in or for her to reach and climb out, finally someone came.

  Violence was something Kyoto had only seen on the news or in films. But she got a close and personal view when two people dressed in black from head to toe suddenly appeared. Chadwick seemed taken by surprise, and she thought that must be a good sign. He raised his gun. The two intruders returned fire, killing him on the spot.

  She’d never forget the confident smile of one of her rescuers when they removed their black hoods and told her she was safe now.

  “My name is Lee,” the Asian woman had said in a British accent. “I’m a friend of Bryce’s. We’re getting you out of here straight away.”

  Hours later, while many of the patients waiting in the emergency ward watched the Formula One race on television, Kyoto’s arm was x-rayed and set and she was discharged. Lee and her partner drove Kyoto to Bryce’s hotel where a key card had been left for them at the front desk. Later that evening, she remembered waking up when she heard Bryce’s voice. The pills had made her groggy but there was much to say, much to explain including how she’d taken Pete’s journal. But her focus was on Jon.

  She made calls to her contacts at the State Department, who in turn contacted the CIA and made them aware of what Russo and Chadwick had been up to. An immediate alert went out for Brownell and Jon Watanabe. Bryce made reservations for the next, fastest flight back to DC for both of them and then raised the covers back over her and sat near her until she fell asleep.

  For him, the race in Singapore would go down in history as one of the greatest ever. Millions around the world watched as Winters charged from the rear of the grid to battle with Pushkin, Bishop, Patrice and Dickie Jones. On the very last lap, on the final turn, in what officials would rule as racing accident, Bryce’s and the Russian’s cars bumped and spun into the gravel handing the win to Patrice – his first.

  *

  Lee and Madigan had been sitting near the bar in the second suite Bryce had occupied while in town, and he joined them to toast an unbelievable job well done.

  “You owe me, Mr. Winters,” Lee reminded him, and then she kissed his left cheek and left, passing the two F1 security staffers posted outside the suite door.

  “Did she say what she did with Chadwick?” Bryce asked

  Madigan who simply smiled, raised a glass, and replied, “Here’s to dumpsters!”

  Miles away in a roadside hotel near Colorado Springs, Colorado, now former CIA Agent Bill Brownell was cleaning the handful of weapons he’d brought along for the ride. He’d paid cash for the hotels, for everything along the way and switched to burner phones so he couldn’t be tracked.

  He looked to Jon Watanabe who was sitting on the floor below the coat rack in the back of the clean but worn room, and then to the man sitting in one of the two chairs separated by a table and lamp at the window. The curtains had remained closed throughout the day, and the Do Not Disturb sign dangled in the slight breeze on the outside doorknob.

  They would wait until dark before loading up and moving on.

  “You sure this plan is going to work?” Myers asked as he reached for the remote and changed channels to the evening news.

  Brownell kept his focus on his hardware but laughed. “Sure will. We’re going big game hunting. You can hang his damn head in his trophy room when we’re done.”

  Watanabe’s eyes widened as he listened.

  “What about Madigan?” the cheated-on widower asked. Brownell kept his focus and waited before responding.

  “Bryce Winters first. Now that I’m out of a job, he’s going to fund my retirement. And I like nice things, really nice things. Then I’ll help you find the guy who was screwing your wife. The rest is on you.”

  Jon sat quietly and continued to listen from his spot on the floor.

  “What about him?” Myers asked looking to their captive. Brownell turned and stared for a moment before refocusing on the maintenance at hand.

  “He’s our insurance. Russo’s done, Chadwick hasn’t checked in, so I have to assume he’s done, too. As long as Johnny boy keeps his mouth shut and I don’t have to beat the shit out of him again to keep him quiet, we’ll go with the plan. Russo was allowed only one phone call from jail and now that we know there’s a secondary detection system in use at Winters’ place I have an idea how we can beat it.”

  “What if he doesn’t come back to Park City? We can’t wait out there forever,” Myers pushed.

  “He will,” Brownell replied. “They always do.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  At the White House, Chief of Staff James read through the file sent by the FBI. Special Agents had interviewed Kyoto and Bryce at her condo in the Watergate after she had been taken to George Washington Hospital in downtown DC to have her arm checked and a full physical given.

  An agent who specialized in helping survivors of kidnappings and assaults cope had remained behind once the interviews concluded. She had assessed Kyoto Watanabe was one tough cookie who was doing very well. The chance of post-traumatic stress syndrome, PTSD, taking hold of her was slim, in her professional opinion.

  The FBI had deemed both individuals should be regarded as targets, based on the events in Park City and Singapore. The agency was confident that Brownell had been the person who grabbed Kyoto’s brother, either in retaliation, as a bargaining chip or insurance—or all three. State, CIA, and the FBI agreed the entire matter needed to be treated as confidential. Word from the White House was that the president had been briefed and his response would be forthcoming. For now, the FBI had two directives – find Brownell, Jon Watanabe, and keep Bryce Winters and Kyoto safe.

  “We think it best that you do not compete in Russia,” an agent suggested to Bryce who laughed at the idea. Then he saw Kyoto’s expression, her shock that he’d even consider leaving her there in the state she was in to go racing”

  “If Brownell’s the guy you’re after he won’t be in Sochi unless he left the country already, which you say he hasn’t, since none of his passports have been used.”

  The agent nodded.

  “Unless he flew out priva
te or some of his rogue CIA buddies helped him get out of the country some other way, he should still be in the U.S. Yes?”

  The agent nodded again.

  “I’ll have my security on me the entire time and be back here in no time,” Bryce reasoned.

  The expression on Kyoto’s face turned from surprise to disappointment to anger in the time it took to speak his peace. Kyoto told the agent how much she appreciated all that the FBI was doing. Then she asked if they could wait outside so she could speak with Bryce privately.

  “How can you leave?” she cried as soon as the door closed behind the agents. “How can you even think about racing, with me lying here beat to crap and my brother still missing, possibly in worse shape?”

  Bryce considered her words and then walked to the window overlooking the Potomac. “Kyoto, this is what I do. This is what racers do. I can’t be of any help right now trying to find Jon. The professionals are on it and you’re safe.” He turned to look at her. The anger he had seen in her face had softened again to disappointment. She didn’t get it.

  “Listen, we have a lot to talk about and we’ll have time to do that once Jon is back home and safe. You and I can process everything that’s happened. Since the moment he told you I was a hit man for the CIA, and you broke off all contact without giving me the chance to explain, I put my walls back up. The day you were supposed to be in Montreal I stood over a grave and said a final goodbye so I could fully open my heart to you. But then Jon broke the law, you shut me out, and I threw my walls back up with the intention of never letting them down again.”

  “If you were so into me why didn’t you fly down on one of your private jets and knock at my door?”

  Bryce tensed, anger creeping back. “Because I wasn’t in a good place, emotionally. You had shut me out, told me you never wanted to see me again. I figured the last thing I needed to do was risking you outing me if I came here to explain and asked you to let me in. You might have been scared of me, for Christ’s sake. How was I to know how you’d react?” He sighed and shook his head in frustration. “I had decided to finish the season and then, after you had some time to calm down a bit, I would reach out to you. But after you read Pete’s journal, and I have no idea why you brought it here from the cabin, you let me know you wanted nothing to do with me.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand to signal he wasn’t yet done. “Let’s get one thing straight here, Kyoto. None of us would be where we are today if Jon hadn’t opened his mouth. You already know that I was forced into this life. Plenty of people kill for their country – only most of them wear uniforms when engaging our enemies. What was going on at CIA was way over Jon’s pay grade, but you didn’t consider that either. There is more to this than the shit he told you about me.”

  Neither of them said another word for a time. Bryce went back to the window while Kyoto just stared into space.

  “The reality is, we had a really good thing going. I think we still could – now that you know the most important stuff. But only if you can live with the fact that I do what I do for the United States—whether it’s race or playing the grim reaper when I’m called to do my duty. You mentioned back in June that the cover on that book scared you. That it reminded you of how dangerous my world is. Well, your brother works for the CIA, and he’s been kidnapped. You could have been killed in Singapore. None of this is my fault!”

  Bryce’s emotions were getting the better of him and he didn’t like the way it felt. He walked over to her and took a knee in front of her.

  “Racing is the life I’ve chosen. Yes, it can be a lonely and dangerous one. If you want to talk about this after Jon’s found and I’m done for the season, let me know.” He stood up, leaned over and kissed her cheek, just missing the tears running down her face, and then left without looking back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sochi, Russia looked and felt the same to Bryce as it had twelve months before. Some racing series are referred to as traveling circuses, and F1 was that indeed. But it was an upscale version with the most expensive budgets, latest technology, and extraordinary venues. Bryce flew directly from Washington to Moscow and then down to Sochi on the Black Sea, where he reconnected with Jack Madigan. Jack had traveled with the team from a very humid Singapore to the north and west of it to the cooler breezes of early fall in Russia.

  After everything that had happened in the last few weeks, Bryce declined an invitation to the VIP event he and Madigan had attended the year before. He blamed the lingering cold that had been with him for a week now. But, in reality, he just wanted to get into the race car and never get out. There, on the track, he was in his element, doing what he did best, without distractions. He was fully engrossed while in the cockpit just like a booklover locked into a novel or a movie buff captivated by the tale playing out on the big screen. Before qualifying on Saturday, as he rested in his little hideaway above the team’s hospitality area, his aide Lynn Whitehouse interrupted with a soft knock.

  “Hate to bother, but there’s a representative from the U.S. Embassy here. A Jason Ryan, asking to see you.”

  Bryce remembered him. They had first met during the pre-season testing in Barcelona and then again with Sandra Jennings at the driving school where he got to play with armored SUVs. This was the first contact from anyone at CIA since Jennings texted that she was en route to Singapore – the last he’d heard from her.

  “Sure, I remember him. Send him in.” Bryce sat up and reached for the bottle of water he’d been nursing. “Would you bring up some coffees and something sweet like chocolate and caramel, please. Need to get the juices flowing for qualifying!”

  Whitehouse held the door open for Ryan to enter and closed it behind him. The two shook hands, Ryan took a seat, and then began to speak. Bryce quickly placed his right index finger to his lips for silence, but Ryan shook his head.

  “No need for the little black box, Bryce, not this time,” he told him. Then, over the next five minutes he brought Bryce up to speed on what had happened to Jennings and what was going on back at the agency.

  Jennings’ body had been found two days after the race, floating under a dock where fishing boats tied up at night. She’d been shot in the back of the head. Dental records were necessary to identify her as creatures of the sea had nibbled away at anything edible, including her fingerprints.

  Her body was flown back to DC where she was later interred in a private ceremony at Arlington. She was entitled, Ryan said, because of her years of service in the U.S. Air Force before continuing to serve her country at CIA.

  Bryce hadn’t known much about the woman but had liked her and felt sorry that she’d been killed. After Whitehouse delivered a tray of drinks and sweets, she left the men to it. She’d learned his signals well, Bryce thought. She gave him the look he required, and because he didn’t wink in return she didn’t suggest he had to get ready to race. Not this time.

  “So, what happens next – to Madigan and me, that is,” he asked.

  “Right now, absolutely nothing. Things are up in the air back in Washington. Your girl and our guy got things really stirred up. Even POTUS is involved now. Nobody is sure how many heads, if any, are going to roll over this mess.”

  Both men prepared their coffees and said little, other than to comment on the weather. A moment later, Bryce noticed Ryan’s expression had changed to a very grave one.

  “I do have to tell you this though,” he began but waited until he’d set up the little black box to jam bugs or communications. “After Max Werner died, we picked up a lot of communication from the bad actors he’d been working with. Everyone seems sure it was a hit.”

  “Everyone?” Bryce asked for an explanation.

  “Werner had accounts and formal and informal ties here in Russia, the Ukraine, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and China. His death threw his business into a state of chaos. Some board members were already in on his activities but others seemed honestly shocked to hear of them. Several resigned and tried to
make deals to avoid any chance of prosecution. I expect at least a few fear for their lives. It’s good to be in the bodyguard business in Munich these days – there’s plenty of work, from what I am told.”

  “And who owns the business now – shareholders?” Bryce asked.

  “Werner left his shares, 51% of the company, to his daughter Mila. The girl’s mother will be in charge until Mila reaches the age of twenty-one.”

  “Let me guess. That puts her in a sticky spot. The people her husband had dealt with, illegally, will want to continue profiting from the business relationship with his company. And that puts her – and Mila – at risk in a variety of ways.”

  “Yep.”

  “Shit.”

  A knock at the door from Whitehouse let Bryce know it was indeed time to suit up and head over to the pits for qualifying. He gave her the thumbs up and then finished his conversation with Ryan.

  “She has ample security on them both?”

  “As far as we can tell. But where this all goes from here, who knows.”

  Bryce shook his head, thanked Ryan for the update, and then sent him on his way.

  Soon after, Bryce set a track record in winning the pole for the race. A day later, he battled with his adversaries for 53 laps until he captured the win and took back the points lead for the championship. With just five races to go, he was back in front. And with ten days off before the next race in Japan he found himself back in front again, in first class, high over the Atlantic headed home to Park City instead of Monte Carlo.

  His life was still in a state of flux. Kyoto and he hadn’t spoken since he left her. Neither Jon nor Brownell had been found. Most of all, he was exhausted. He needed the healing warmth of his mountain home and its surroundings far more than the cool Santorini décor of his condo on the hillside. Time spent hiking the hills, capturing moose with his camera, drinking real beer, not the zero alcohol kind, and laying low was what he most longed for.

  By the time he drove through the gate and pulled up to the front door, saying hello to the grizzly bear staring back at him on the door, he was spent. The cold mountain air that greeted him when he climbed out of the car was just what he’d been missing. He turned on lights, turned up the heat, and drank down a glass of water as if he was being timed on a pit stop. His paid caretakers, a retired couple that lived down in the village, had kept things clean and in order. They had done a great job as always, but when he looked across the room at the wall of trophies on the far wall something looked out of place.