Read Online Chemical Burn by Quincy J. Allen - Free Book Online

but I hadn’t really put it all together. “It’s just down the road a ways. Like a mile or so.”
    “I didn’t pick the house. SolCon did,” she said matter-of-factly.
    I’m sure an ‘ a-ha ’ look crossed my face, because she gave me a curious expression.
    “Did they, now?” I looked at her, and gears turned in my head … about whatever was on the device Nikolov’s assistant had mentioned … and that Andropov protocol.
    “I had originally been set up in a condo off Malibu beach, but they told me to move here about three months ago.”
    I did a quick calculation. I’d given the chemical data to Xen four months ago, so the timing would be about right.
    The gears clicked into place as I thought about her pistol, Nikolov’s protocol, and where her condo was located. “Can I see the Glock?” I asked.
    “What for?”
    “Something Nikolov said.” I held out my hand as she reached behind her back and handed it over. I pulled the slide back and locked it, catching the round in my cupped hand. Then I ejected the clip and inspected both closely. I emptied the clip into my hand. Reaching into a pocket where my coat was draped, I dug through a number of tools until I felt the one I wanted. I extracted a long pair of slim, heavy tweezers that appeared to be made of glass. Pressing a button on the side, the tips glowed with bright light. I used them to push down the spring return inside the clip to see inside. As the return went down, I exposed a thin strip of black and silver metal that had the faint pattern of micro-circuitry on it. A tracer. “Damn, I’m good,” I said, chuckling.
    “What?” she asked, perplexed.
    Grasping the strip with the tweezers, I pulled it out and lay it on the dashboard. “It seems that Nikolov is a cooler customer than I thought. He knew you were here. He’s been keeping a very close eye on your whereabouts, but the range of these is a matter of miles. Hence the condo only a few miles from his yacht.”
    “Oh my god,” she gasped.
    I handed her the bullets and clip, and she started reloading it. Then I inspected the Glock. Looking inside the clip receiver revealed nothing, so I removed the slide. Stuck to the inside of the slide, hidden in a groove, was another tracer. I pulled it off and stuck it to the one on the dashboard. I inspected the rest of the Glock thoroughly, making sure there were no other tracers. I put the pistol together and handed it back to her, a thoughtful look on my face.
    “How did you know?” she asked, sliding the clip back into the pistol and chambering a round.
    “Nikolov mentioned the Andropov protocol. It’s something Yvgenny told me about a few years back.”
    “Yvgenny?”
    “Hmmm?” I asked. “Oh, he’s a violin player I know. Anyway, he said the Russian mob uses the Andropov protocol when they think there might be a snitch in the mix. When Nikolov said it, I thought he meant someone in DiMarco’s crew. But when you mentioned how close your place was and who picked it out, it occurred to me it might be something else. He knew we … well, you were nearby. The only thing you had left from last night was the Glock.”
    She popped the clip and put the last round back in so she had a full load. “That son-of-a-bitch.”
    “What I can’t figure is why he let us listen in. Shit,” I muttered as I stood up. “Go change,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to meet up with DiMarco’s crew looking like that.”
    “You’re right,” she gazed down at her tanned skin and covered it up with the towel, prompting a disappointed look from me.
    “Although, that outfit might distract them considerably ,” I pointed out.
    “Cretin,” she accused, feigning offense.
    “Not at all,” I said innocently. “Thinking tactically.” With a lascivious smile, I pulled the earpiece out of my ear, dropped it in the bag and handed it to her. She removed hers, dropped the microphone after it, and pulled the drawstring tight. Without another