Vostok

Chapter 1

Cindy Bleich stood on the patio of their rented villa in Tolo, Greece. The sun had gone down; the full moon hung in the sky over the bay. The moonlight shimmered across the surface of the calm Mediterranean ocean. She watched as three large men trudged along the deserted shoreline in her direction. The colorful villas along the beach were packed tightly together and were located a stone’s throw from the water. At this time of night, nobody was left on the beach.

The men looked out of place here; they weren’t tourists. They looked more like soldiers in civilian clothes. One of the men separated from the other two and ducked between a home fifty yards away.

Cindy watched their approach, trying to guess which home these men were headed to. Whatever the destination, Cindy had the idea there would be trouble at that location.

The men stopped and looked back down the deserted beach, as if looking for witnesses. They seemed satisfied as they slowly turned back toward her. One man looked directly at Cindy, then looked away and started walking in her direction again.

Cindy could hear her close friends laughing inside the villa, oblivious to what was unfolding on the beach. As she watched the men approach, her heart began to beat a little faster. There was something not right about these men in this setting. A little voice inside her head told her to get inside the villa. She began to back slowly across the balcony, toward the sliding glass doors.

The man who had looked at her before looked again. He held his gaze for a little longer this time before turning his head away. The two kept walking along the shoreline, saying nothing to each other. They moved like they had a purpose. Cindy looked for the third man up the beach, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Cindy was at the sliding doors as the men passed in front of her balcony. They both stopped suddenly and turned toward her. One of the men drew a pistol from the back of his waistband. Cindy’s heart leaped as she locked eyes with the man holding the gun.

Without warning, they charged toward the metal gate that stood between her and them. Cindy screamed, turned and bolted into the living room where her two high school friends were relaxing and drinking wine.

The playful atmosphere evaporated as Cindy dove into the room. Cindy grabbed the handle on the glass door and tried to yank it shut.

Desperately she glanced over her shoulder at her friends. Help me, she screamed.

Both women were slow to react until they saw the first man leap up the stairs and onto the balcony. The gun in his hand was pointed at them. Cindy slammed the glass door shut. She was fumbling for the lock as the man raced toward the sliding door.

Carla Whiting and Karen Rankin shrieked in unison as the man charged toward the patio door. They jumped up and ran to help Cindy. A satisfying snap sounded as the lock engaged and Cindy jumped back from the glass. The second man came into view as the first grabbed the handle and gave it a ferocious heave. The whole door rattled in its frame.

Open it now, the man demanded through the glass. He had dark eyes, jet-black hair and a furrowed brow. He stood six-foot-three and must have weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. The anger on his face was terrifying. He looked directly into Cindy’s eyes and a shudder rolled down her spine.

Cindy ignored his command, spun and sprinted for the front of the house.

Run to the bar down the street—someone will help us, Cindy shouted over her shoulder to her dumbfounded friends.

Cindy ran down the hall to the front door. Carla and Karen didn’t know what was happening. They weren’t asking questions. They were four strides behind Cindy. The glass door began banging in its frame.

Cindy pulled the front door open, but it jammed against the chain lock. At first she didn’t understand what was preventing her from opening the door.

It won’t open, she screamed.

Cindy yanked frantically several times in quick succession with the chain snapping against the wooden door, preventing their escape.

The lock. The lock. Carla reached out and grabbed the chain to show Cindy what was halting their exit.

As Carla’s fingers touched the chain, a hairy arm pushed through the six-inch gap from outside and locked onto Carla’s wrist. All three girls screamed together. At the same moment, the glass patio door exploded inward from the other room.

Cindy knew they had only seconds left to escape now. She leaned toward the beefy arm and dug her teeth into the soft flesh of the man’s wrist. He howled and let go instantly.

Karen grabbed both girls by their arms and pulled them toward a bedroom door. The sound of feet crunching on glass was coming from ten feet away. The girls piled into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. The bedroom lock was engaged and the three women leaned on the door.

Scream, Cindy yelled to her friends.

The sound never had a chance to leave the women’s lungs. The flimsy bedroom door exploded inward with the force of one of the giant men slamming against it.

The three girls flew backward, bouncing hard against the floor. They lay stunned, sprawled across the cold tile. The man who had thrown himself against the door stood looking at them, his shoulders touching both sides of the doorframe. He moved into the room and stepped to the side.

Another man walked into the room. He was big, too; football-player big. He had tattoos down both forearms. Blue, ugly designs meant to stain the body, not beautify it. He had a square head with close-cropped blond hair. His nose was flat against his face, not born that way. His tight t-shirt rose and fell with his breathing. He looked at the blood dripping from his forearm and smiled. He raised it to his mouth and licked the bite mark Cindy had given him.

His eyes moved from woman to woman, not saying anything, just leering. The three friends cowered together, fear and confusion gripping each of them.

The big blond man reached behind him and pulled out his gun. He pointed it at each one of them in succession, holding it for a second before moving to the next. He smiled again, enjoying the fear he created.

He motioned with his weapon for the women to stand. He spoke to them in a thick Russian accent. Fun is over, ladies. You come with us now.

Chapter 2

The burning pain in Zack’s muscles was becoming intolerable. His legs were beginning to tremble from fatigue. The cold bit into his body. His heart beat as though he were running a marathon. He had his sights set on the woman thirty yards in front of him. He needed to catch her. Zack had been trailing her all day. He didn’t like to admit it, but she was simply better than he was. She stopped to get her bearings and he moved up on her right side, the blind side.

He pulled up next to her and skidded to a halt. His skis bit into the snow and sprayed a light wash of powder over the lower half of her ski suit. She looked at him and grinned, exposing a perfect row of white teeth.

I thought you could ski? Katrina said.

Zack gave her a droll look. I can ski—you can ski better. You look cold, let’s take a break. Time for a beer.

She wrinkled her nose. I’m not cold, and why would you drink beer on a day like today? Kahlua and coffee works for me.

Zack gave her a nod. We’re taking a break. I’ll follow you to the lodge.

Of course you will. You’re too slow to lead. She gave him a wink and pushed off.

Katrina Lestick was a former downhill champion on Canada’s ski team. Zack had met her at a party of a mutual friend. They had known each other for about a month and were casual lovers. A few days ago, she had suggested they spend the day skiing at Lake Louise, a world-class mountain resort an hour and a half west of his home base in Calgary. He had agreed to the idea without thinking that he might spend six hours on the hill being humiliated by her athletic skills. The day was almost over; with any luck, they could spend the next hour sitting by a fire, relaxing before the drive home.

They were settled in the chalet in a thick-padded leather couch when Zack’s phone rang. He looked at the display; it was his dad.

I need to take this, he said to Katrina. Hey, Dad, what’s up?

I just got off the phone with a man by the name of Edgar Bleich. His daughter is missing, along with her two friends. Last seen over a week ago in Greece. I’ve booked you on an eight a.m. flight to Newark, New Jersey, tomorrow morning. You’re meeting Edgar at his office in Manhattan at two p.m. If you take the assignment, I assume you’ll be flying to Greece from there.

Sounds like fun. You can handle my cases here?

Sure. No problem. How’s the skiing?

Snow’s great. Not a cloud in the sky. I’m going to be a little stiff tomorrow. We’ve been skiing hard. I’ll call you tonight when I get home and brief you on the two cases I’m currently working on.

Okay, son; drive safe on the way home.

Zack cut the connection. He and his dad were partners in a domestic private detective business he operated in Calgary. His dad was a retired major crimes detective with the Toronto police force. His old man had followed Zack out to Calgary after Zack’s mother died from a short battle with cancer. The two of them worked together now when Zack was in Canada, which wasn’t all that often. Zack’s true passion was to work internationally as a detective. His investigative business had been growing over the past few years. Each successful international assignment seemed to sprout a bunch of new referrals. He was making money, traveling the world and enjoying life.

He looked over at Katrina. She was reflecting on the contents of her steaming cup of coffee and Kahlua, her pale blue eyes lost in thought.

Zack gave her a playful nudge. I’d like to ski you into the ground for another hour, but I need to head back. I’m leaving the country tomorrow and I need to get organized.

She rolled her eyes. Ski me into the ground? I know how you ski, remember? She smiled and paused. How long will you be gone?

Hard to say. I’ll be a few weeks, minimum.

Now she gave him a seductive smile. Are you up for a sexual workout when we get home? I didn’t work up much of a sweat out here today. She fluttered her eyelids and giggled.

Zack put his tongue in his cheek and nodded at the playful insult. Oh, you’re going to sweat before the night is over. Guaranteed.

Chapter 3

Zack sat patiently in the waiting room of a downtown office building in Manhattan. The foyer area was opulent. Mr. Edgar Bleich was involved with investment banking and was a partner in the firm Antony, Gordon and Bleich Capital Corp. Everything smelled of money. Rich mahogany paneling adorned the walls and the carpet was plush and expensive. The receptionist’s desk was made of exotic granite; the woman sitting at it looked like she could work as a professional model. Zack had been studying the decor for the past few minutes. If Bleich’s daughter is missing, money must somehow factor into it.

A well-coiffed woman wearing a form-fitting black dress entered the reception area. She had a regal look about her. Her sandy-blond hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. Her horn-rimmed glasses hung from the tip of a pointed nose. Her accent sounded like she might have her family roots in Boston or somewhere in that area.

Mr. Starr? I’m Teresa Gills, Mr. Bleich’s executive assistant. If you’ll come with me, please.

Zack stood. Teresa spun on the heel of her sensible shoes and headed back through the glass door from which she had come. Zack was two steps behind, enjoying the backside view that Ms. Gills was offering.

She entered an open door and led Zack into another lavish reception area. She proceeded to a large, solid mahogany door, rapped twice in quick succession and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. She stepped in, turned sideways and swung her arm in a flowing gesture, inviting Zack into the inner sanctum of Mr. Edgar Bleich.

The office was grand by any standard. There were three large couches arranged in a horseshoe shape with the open end facing a large, well-stocked bar. In the corner of the room was a table with six expensive-looking leather chairs arranged around the circumference. The office offered an amazing view of the New York skyline. Mr. Bleich sat behind a massive oak desk that looked like an antique and was presumably expensive. The man looked to be fit and had a completely bald head, which seemed like it had been buffed to give it a high sheen. His hands were clasped in front of him and rested on his desk. His fingers were thin and his fingernails looked professionally manicured.

Ms. Gills asked, Can I get you coffee, soft drink or water?

Water would be great, Zack replied with a smile.

She gave him a curt nod in return and stepped back through the door, closing it behind her.

Mr. Bleich unclasped his palms, stood and extended his hand. I’m glad you could come so quickly, Mr. Starr. I’ve heard good things about you. Call me Edgar.

The two shook hands and Edgar pointed to the large armchair in front of his desk. Have a seat, he said.

Zack sunk into the chair and waited for Edgar to get started. The man hesitated; his eyes became glassy while he organized his thoughts.

Zack—may I call you Zack?

Zack nodded. Of course.

I have a problem that needs a quick solution. Throughout my life I’ve been able to solve my own problems. I welcome new challenges, confront them with zeal. But this current situation has left me helpless. I’m totally out of my element.

Edgar brought his index finger and thumb to his eyes. He squeezed the tears from them and ended by pinching the bridge of his nose. He sat quietly for a few seconds, composing himself.

"My daughter was meeting two of her closest girlfriends for a vacation—that was the beginning of May, almost two weeks ago now. They had rented a home in Tolo, Greece. They planned to sit in the sun for a week and relax. At the end of the week, the father of one of her girlfriends received a call from the owner of the home. The owner had arrived on the last day of the rental period to inspect the home and return the damage deposit. The girls weren’t there. There was damage; a glass patio door had been shattered and a bedroom door was destroyed. There was food in the fridge, open wine bottles and half-filled wine glasses on the tables in the living room. Their clothes were still hanging in the closets or packed neatly in chests of drawers in the bedrooms. All three girls left their cell phones in the villa.

"The owner called the police as he suspected foul play, based on the scene he had encountered. That was when he also called Doug Whiting, the father of one of Cindy’s friends. The landlord had Doug’s name as an emergency contact on the rental agreement.

I know Doug; he also lives in New York. He called me to see what I knew, which was nothing. My wife and I are close to our daughter, but sometimes we can go a few weeks without touching base. We knew she was in Greece with her friends—she’d sent an email to us when they arrived. We hadn’t heard from her during the week but hadn’t given the lack of contact much thought until Doug called. My wife then called Margaret Rankin, the parents of Cindy’s third friend. The Rankins live in New Hampshire. They hadn’t heard from their daughter for several days, either. The six of us got on a jet that Doug had chartered and headed to Greece the next day. We got there, talked with the police, but found nothing. We spent a week frantically searching. Doug called an investigative service and a group of four men arrived near the end of the week we were there. They’ve been searching for the girls for the last few days, but have found no sign of them.

Edgar paused and looked down at the top of his desk. I haven’t said this to my wife, but I fear my baby is dead or maybe in a situation that’s worse than death. We had expected, hoped, there would be a ransom demand; there’s been no contact. We’re worried sick. The not-knowing is so painful. We need a resolution, or maybe just some closure.

Edgar’s voice started to shake at the end of his story. He brought his hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes from Zack. Tears dripped down onto the surface of his expensive desk. Zack had his leather-bound notebook out and was writing down the details. The office door opened; a smiling young woman brought in a glass of ice water. The smile disappeared when she saw Edgar crying at his desk. She shoved the water at Zack and exited the office with lightning speed. Zack took a gulp of water and set the glass down on Edgar’s desk. It was normal for him to be employed by someone who was in emotional pain. Losing a child was about as painful as it could get.

Did your daughter ever mention problems with a boyfriend? Any other personal issues that could have led to this situation?

Edgar looked up and shook his head emphatically. No, nothing. In a strange way, I wish that were a possibility; that would make sense. The men Doug hired asked all of us that question, too. The other two girls had nothing happening in their lives that would invite this circumstance. All three girls are very responsible; they’re the closest of friends. They’re educated and have good careers. Well, Cindy recently quit her job, but she has offers for new employment she’s considering. Each of the girls has commitments and responsibilities. They were supposed to be home May ninth. Something happened to them—something terrible.

Okay, tell me about the team that Mr. Whiting has hired to investigate.

Edgar tightened his lips while he considered his response. "Doug has more money than the Catholic Church; he has billions. He’s on the Forbes list of the top one hundred richest people on the planet. The four men I met were all ex-military. They seemed very capable and were dead serious. Doug is wild, livid about his daughter’s disappearance. Whoever is responsible for this should fear for their lives. I don’t think Doug is the kind of man to let the justice system penalize whoever is involved in our daughters’ disappearance.

I’m sure his men are doing all they can, but Doug isn’t telling me anything. My wife and I and the Rankins are completely out of the loop. I have money; the Rankins do too. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to add a new investigator into the mix at this point. At least this way, I’ll know what’s happening. I told Doug what I was doing. He suggested that if his men couldn’t find the girls, nobody could. He may be right, but I want my own answers. Doug did give me the contact information of his lead investigator; they’ll be expecting you in Greece. A guy named Dale Wudrick is leading the team. I want you to go over there and see what you can find out. Please keep me informed. It would make me feel better just to hear what you’re doing. Edgar’s eyes were a mix of fear and pleading. I want you to bring my baby back to me if she’s still alive.

Zack probed with questions for another half-hour. He gained the required insight into the lives of the three missing women. Their disappearance certainly didn’t fit with what Edgar was describing of the women’s backgrounds.

Edgar provided a photograph that Cindy had emailed him from Tolo on the first day of their vacation. The three girls were hugging each other and grinning for the camera. They could have been sisters. Each had blond hair, they were all slim, attractive, in their late twenties, and each stood about five feet eight inches tall. At the end of the discussion with Edgar, Zack was convinced that the ladies had all been victims of foul play. For what reason and to what end, he did not know, but he’d find out.

Okay, Edgar, I think I have a good understanding of your daughter and her friends. I’ll take the next flight to Greece. I’ll keep you apprised via email or phone and will do my best to get some quick results.

Edgar stood and shook Zack’s hand with a forceful grip. He had the look of a father who was holding on to a thread of hope. Zack wondered if he would be delivering news of the death of Edgar’s daughter at some point in the near future. He hoped not, but the situation did not sound promising for a good ending.

Chapter 4

It was six p.m. the next evening. Zack had landed in Athens on a direct Aeroflot flight from JFK in New York. He wasn’t thrilled with the choice of airline, given Aeroflot’s spotty safety record, but it was the first flight out and he made it without incident. He was now traveling in a rented car west toward the coastal town of Tolo.

Tolo was a little off the beaten track. It was located a few hours west of Athens. The town was a popular tourist location for the Greek locals, but not a place where international tourists normally visited.

Zack needed to talk with a friend at INTERPOL—an investigator he had become friends with while they worked together at the international policing agency a few years ago. Zack