The Black Bullet

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Nicole Bradley sat as far away from Andrei Keltzin as possible. On the passenger bench seat behind the driver, she sat with her back against the van’s panel wall. They used duct tape to bind her hands. She didn’t want to look at the man. Wanted to close her eyes, open them and hope he’d disappear, like a bad dream.

The driver stopped the van behind an abandoned warehouse. He parked next to a dumpster. He left the motor running, the air conditioner blowing cold air, a slight smell of moldy newspaper, exhaust, and sour wine seeping through the system.

“Zakhar,” said Keltzin, sitting next to Nicole. They spoke English.

“Yes.”

“Hand me the blade-the one you worked so hard to sharpen.”

Zakhar Sorokin lifted a straight razor from a pocket inside his sports coat and handed it to Keltzin.

“Please don’t,” pleaded Nicole.

Keltzin opened the razor, the light from a panel window reflecting off the blade. He leaned closer to her and whispered in a throaty voice, “Your profile on Facebook said you had been told by friends you have a face for television.”

“Please ….”

“So what does a ‘face for television’ mean?”

“I didn’t mean anything … please … what do you want?”

“Your boyfriend, Jason, what did he tell you about the submarine?”

“He said it’s like somewhere off Daytona Beach.”

“How many cylinders of U-235 did they really find?”

“He said two.”

“Where is this submarine located? What are the GPS numbers?”

“I don’t know.”

“On your television station, we heard him say he could find it again. There is no way he could find it again without the numbers. What are they?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

Keltzin slid next to her. She could smell sweat and vodka from his skin. He took the razor and touched the tip of it to her cheek. “If I cut you, I will cut you from this cheekbone, down to your mouth and up to the other cheekbone. I’ve had much practice to perfect the cut. I would not sever the nerves. I will slice through flesh and muscle. The result will be an enormous scar in the shape of a wide smile. You like to smile, no? I can tell from the pictures. But your smiles do not look real. You can always see a real smile. It’s in the eyes. What I see in your eyes right now are lies. Where are the numbers?”

“I swear to God … I don’t have numbers. Jason didn’t get them. Please!”

“Then how is it possible for Jason to find the U-boat? I believe your Jason shared with you the numbers? Do you wish to know why I believe this?”

“No ….”

“Because I can tell a lot about you from your Facebook and Twitter comments. I believe the reason your television station has the pictures from the German submarine is because you got them from your boyfriend. A woman that ambitious will not stop with a few enticing photographs. No, you would find out where the wreck is because you would have the power to reveal the location for your own personal gain-”

“No!”

“Yes! Jason admitted on television he could find the site.”

“That’s not exactly what he said. The editors took a short sound-bite-”

“Silence!”

Keltzin opened the purse on the floorboard, lifted out the cell phone. He quickly found Jason’s number. “I am going to put this on speaker. You tell Jason you must meet him. Tell him you will come to him. You simply want to talk-alone. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“If you make one sound other than what I told you to say, anything to give him an indication you are in distress, I will slit your throat. Again, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He hit the number, pressed the speakerphone. Jason said, “Hi, you off work?”

“Yes.” Nicole shivered once. “Want to hang out?”

“I’ve got to get a bunch of stuff back to Sean. We have a charter tomorrow.”

“Jason, it’s like real important. I’ll meet you. I only need a few minutes to talk.”

“Okay.”

“Where will you be in thirty minutes?”

“Chapman’s. It’s fish house on Riverside.”

“I’ll meet you there in the parking lot. We need to meet alone. We need to talk.”

“Nicole, you okay? Have you been crying or something?”

She looked at Keltzin. He held the razor inches from her face. “I’m okay … just putting a lot of hours in at the station. See you in a half hour.”

Keltzin grinned, teeth like a predator, a small crescent moon scar visible under a nostril. He closed the razor and set it on the bench beside them. “Does your phone have a tracking chip inside it?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Another lie!”

“Please ….” begged Nicole. The instant she glanced down at the razor, Zelkin drove his fist into her left temple. The blow slammed her head against the metal panel, cracking her skull. She slumped down to the van floor, her blue eyes horror-struck, locked, disbelieving under the welling of tears.

Keltzin smiled as he reached for Nicole’s head. She made wet murmurs in her throat. His massive hands held her skull as if he were feeling for the ripeness in a melon. He stared into her pleading eyes, grinned and twisted, the sound like a dog biting through a chicken wing. Three pops as muscle, ligaments, and bone ripped apart. He dropped her head to the cargo floor.

Keltzin cut off the duct tape. He pulled her out of the van and lifted the body over the side of the dumpster. A large rat scurried beneath a cardboard box. He dropped the body on top of broken glass, used condoms, and discarded McDonald’s bags. The stench from human urine rose from the dumpster like sulfurous gas.

Zakhar Sorokin drove to a strip shopping center. A Sam’s Club store was in the middle of the complex. “Stop here,” Keltzin said. He got out of the van and set the dead girl’s purse in a shopping cart someone had left next to a light pole. He got back in the van and said, “Find this Chapman’s fish place. He will be easy to recognize.”