Psycho Within Us (The Psycho Series Book 2) by Chad Huskins Read Free Book Online

part of the Ankundinov family.  Well now, as you can imagine I was happier’n a pig in shit when I found this out, because this narrowed my search down considerably .
    “But first, I had to get outta the country.  This wasn’t easy, ya know?  I mean, every cop and his dog knew that I was in Atlanta, and they for some reason associated me with the Rainbow Room, and so I became a prime suspect.  I’m still on Interpol’s list, last I checked their website.  I never became very famous, because I was just one of a dozen others that eluded police agencies around the world durin’ this operation.”  Bragging , Zakhar thought.  He’s actually taking the time to brag .  As much as it angered him, it might also be his salvation.  Keep talking .  Just keep talking .  “Feds cracked down on anybody who knew me.  Lotta colleagues o’ mine ain’t too happy with me.”  He sighed.  “In any case, after I got sewed up, I hopped from one ride to the next until I got into Canada.  Found an old pal that owed me a favor, got a couple fake IDs, and finally, I made it here, to the Motherland.
    “ In a way, it was like…comin’ home, almost.  I’m no Russian, but I have a certain, ah, aptitude, an ability to integrate easily into various socio-economic classes.  I’m also good at pickin’ up on the vibe of a city.  Ya know, I tend to read the people well.  I also take an interest in the customs an’ behaviors of my host city—it’s important in my line o’ work—so I bought a few language CDs, learned how to say ‘where’s the shitter’ and ‘fuck you’ in Russian—you know, the important stuff—an’ then started to check the listings on the Internet.  Such a handy tool, the Internet.
    “Long story short—I know, I know, too late, right?—I found a few more members of the Ankundinov family, followed a few for the first couple o’ months, figured out which ones hung out in the skeevy part o’ Derbent, and then offered my services.  I’m a thief, specializing in boosting cars, and people always need cars, especially vory , am I right?  Am I right, Zakhar?”  Zakhar didn’t know what else to do but nod, so he did.  “So, I engendered myself to a few of them, learned a bit about jackin’ local cars—you fuckin’ Europeans and your reversed ignition switches,” he chuckled.  “And then I made myself the go-to guy for disposable cars.”
    Zakhar’s eyes wandered about the room, searching for some way out, any way.  The front door was five steps away, but it was locked.  He’d locked it as soon as he returned from gathering the wood.  There wouldn’t be enough room or time to lay down a few suppressing shots and dive for the door.
    “That’s where I found out about the Ankundinov family’s connections to the Northeast Siberian Shipping Company.  Lots o’ boats moving in and out of port, and all year round.  The company was initially founded and run by an Anatoly Ogorodnikov—your grandfather.  More an’ more shares have been sold down through the decades, leaving you with very little stake in it, but stake in it you still have, at least enough so that you get a few benefits.”
    Zakhar shook his head.  “I have nothing more to do with Northeast Siberian Shipping .  Nothing besides a little bookkeeping.”
    The smile never wavered, and neither did his knowing look.  “Ya know, it’s an interesting fact: every year about nine million shippin’ containers enter U.S. ports, and about as many leave.  Only about five percent of those are inspected before they are unloaded, even after 9/11 and all the fears of smuggled uranium started up.  But it’s easier to detect enriched uranium hidden inside a container—a good Geiger counter can do that—but finding small children stuffed inside them…”  He let the sentence drop.
    “I’ve never hurt any children—”
    “Liar liar, pants on fire.”
    “I swear to you, I’ve never—”
    The gunman put a finger to his