The Manifest Destiny Network Chronicles, Book 3: Shadow of the Kremlin

By Maniel

What is it about Yuri Primakov that inspires fear? Is it the company he keeps – don’t let Ivan’s white hair or Mayumi’s polish and style fool you. Is it his tenacity in fighting the unions? That hard shot early in his career created a wounded tiger. Or is it the somber tones which surround his Kremlin Hotel and Casino? The motive behind Reid Fairmont’s murder is still unknown.
Daniel now knows who killed his parents and what caused the tragic accident early in MadNet development which set those murders in motion. However, he remains convinced that information he needs to absolve his parents of any responsibility for their own deaths lies hidden in the Kremlin. He is also well aware that Yuri Primakov and his associates are not to be taken lightly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maniel
• Release date: Sep 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301446827

Maniel

By training and profession, I am an engineer; my years of engineering experience have taught me that “good intentions” do not determine results. Success in engineering is objective: your bridge will stand, your machine will function, and your computer program will run correctly, only if designed and built in strict adherence to physical laws and principles; emotions generally have little to do with engineering outcomes. Since the discipline of engineering, meeting goals through actions based on proven principles, is lacking in our daily lives, it is no surprise that it is missing from our public policy.Having said all that, I am reminded of a personal ad posted in our school newspaper by a coed who described herself as "dynamic and attractive" and who wanted to meet a "passionate, active young man." The final words in the ad were, "no engineers." We are all well served by humility and a sense of humor.

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The Manifest Destiny Network Chronicles

MaDNet Book 3: Shadow of the Kremlin

by Maniel

Smashwords Edition

The Manifest Destiny Network Chronicles, Book 3: Shadow of the Kremlin

Copyright © 2013 by Maniel

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters and events are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Special thanks to Maxine and Kerry for their contributions to this work.

* * * * *

Chapter 1: American Nomad

Sunday, 3 November 2052, Kansas City, Missouri

"Do you live here?" asked the young man.

"Yes and no," said the woman.

"Which one is it?"

"I live here if and when I choose, and if and when I choose, I move on."

"Are you alone?"

"When I choose to be."

"Do you choose to be alone now?"

"That depends."

"On me?"

"Yes, on you. If you would restrain me, then I would be alone."

"And if I choose to honor your freedom?"

"Then there is hope for you."

"For how long?"

"I do not count the days. I measure the feelings, I measure our freedom."

"No bounds, no limits?"

"I must be free to love you and free to leave you."

"But what of the future?"

"Nothing is forever."

"And if and when you move on, where will you go?"

"I go where I please. I live the MaDNet life. My car is my home."

"And your garden?"

"My garden is the whole outdoors. MaDNet goes everywhere, to all scenes and sites."

"And your children?"

"I have none. But if I did, they would be here, with me. She began to sing in a soft voice: I’ve always liked children. I like them to be free. Someday I’ll have children, I’ll teach them about me. I’ve always treasured freedom, and MaDNet keeps me free. My children will be special, they’ll want to be like me."

"And if they don’t?"

"What?" she said, her song interrupted.

What if they don’t want to be like you? What if they want to go to school, be with their friends, be normal?

What does normal mean? Is it normal to be tied to someone, to something, to be a prisoner?

I can’t fall in love with you. You could just leave at any time.

Then don’t. Just go away. I don’t need you.

The young man turned and began to walk away. She began to sing again: I’ve always liked children. I like them to be free. Someday I’ll have children. I’ll teach them about me. I’ve always treasured freedom, and MaDNet keeps me free. My children will be special, they’ll want to be like me.

*****

The curtain fell, the house lights came on, and the audience applauded. I found the nearest usher and asked if it would be possible to interview the star of the play. He took me to an official-looking woman in her fifties who said she would find out for me. She led me down a corridor to an office with a large American Nomad poster on the wall. About fifteen minutes later, the woman returned with another woman dressed in a tailored suit. The second woman appeared to be in her early forties. She looked at me and asked, Do we know each other?

"No, ma’am. My name is Daniel Southern. I’m a private investigator."

"You can talk here if you like," said the official lady. She walked away.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Southern?" asked Amber.

"What can you tell me about Reid Fairmont?"

She hesitated. He was a congressman. I worked on his campaign many years ago. Then, he disappeared.

"You were the last person from his office to see him."

"I was? Who told you that?"

"I know that you arranged to meet him at 1661 Buchanan."

"I don’t remember ever arranging to meet Congressman Fairmont."

"You were an accessory to the crime."

Her gaze was intent, but she was silent.

"Miss McFee, I need your help. I need to know who arranged for Mr. Fairmont to be killed. If you help me, I will be able to help you."

"You say that you’re a private investigator. Excuse me for saying so, Mr. Southern, but you look a little young for the part."

I favor my mother; she hasn’t aged in fifteen years.

May I ask whom you’re working for?

My clients are the family of a man who took part in Mr. Fairmont’s murder. He is also implicated in the murder of River Turner and someone else whom you know: Jimmy Sala.

A serial killer?

I don’t think so, but it doesn’t look good for him right now.

Was he the one who sent you to me?

He mentioned your name.

So Jimmy’s dead, she said, looking past me. I’d say he had it coming.

Why do you say that?

He was smart, good-looking, and definitely had a way with women. But he was a schemer, a user of people.

Was he the one who got you to set up the congressman?

*****

Wednesday, 26 August 2037, Pentagon City, Virginia

Amber McFee had chosen a conservative white blouse, a long skirt, and a gray head scarf for her visit to the Pentagon City Mall. From her table near the entrance, Amber saw Reid Fairmont enter the mall with an Air Force officer. He and the officer talked for a few minutes and then separated to buy their food. As the congressman passed her table, Amber rose and said, Why, Mr. Fairmont, what a coincidence!

Oh hi, Amber, nice to see you. How are you?

I’m fine, Mr. Fairmont, fine, but …

But?

Oh my, it’s not something I should bother you with.

That’s okay. I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all. You’ve been helping my campaign.

Are you sure?

Sure I’m sure.

It’s been a week since my boyfriend moved out, went back to his idiot ex…

Reid Fairmont smiled. I’m not sure I can help you with that.

Oh, this is so embarrassing, I… Amber hesitated.

Yes?

Well, I was wondering… Oh, I’m so embarrassed.

It’s okay, take your time.

It’s sort of personal, but, well…

Amber, it’s okay.

I can’t discuss it here. Is there any way you could come to my place after lunch?

Well, that isn’t something I normally do.

Oh, I know, that’s all right, Mr. Fairmont. Please don’t inconvenience yourself.

But sure, I’d be happy to.

Really? Oh thank you so much, Mr. Fairmont. Thank you.

Where’s your place?

I’ll just tell you. That way, no incriminating evidence, she said with a smile. It’s easy: 1661 Buchanan, number 16.

Amazing, that is easy. How’d you manage that?

Just luck. Oh, Mr. Fairmont, thank you so much. I’ll be there when you arrive.

See you soon.

*****

Sunday, 3 November 2052, Kansas City, Missouri

What did you do then? I asked.

I went back to Mr. Fairmont’s office and worked the rest of the afternoon.

You weren’t afraid?

I was terrified that he would come back to the office. There I would be, the little tease who had lured him to her place and then backed out at the last minute.

So you were actually glad that he didn’t come back?

That afternoon I was.

And afterward?

I began to feel incredibly guilty. With each day that passed, it became more obvious that Mr. Fairmont wasn’t coming back.

Did anyone suspect that you had a role in his disappearance?

No-one suspected—I was never even questioned. But I knew.

When was the last time you saw Jimmy?

He came to see me at my acting class in Fairfax.

To watch your class?

To pay me what he said he owed me: thirty thousand dollars.

Is that what you had agreed to?

Yes, but I thought I should get more since I no longer had a staffer job.

What did he say?

He said that he would pay me another ten thousand, but he never did.

*****

Tuesday, 5 November 2052, San Diego, California

No comments? I asked.

I see some progress on your backhand, but you’re still not setting up quickly enough.

What’s the secret?

The big secret is to play more between lessons, Marcia whispered.

I’ve been a little busy.

How’s the new case going?

Okay, I guess.

Aren’t you excited, even a little?

Nervous would be a better word.

But you’re a success now. You’ve broken two cases and solved five murders. It’s like winning Wimbledon and the U.S. Open. It’s…

Please. I liked it better when you were treating me like an underachieving C player.

You are an underachieving C player—because you’re not playing enough tennis. But you’re a successful P.I. Marcia Dunlop had fished a tube of lip balm from her tennis bag and was using the little finger of her left hand to coat her lips with white goo.

I’ve solved two cases; you don’t get to the tournament finals after two wins. Where are Fiona and the boys?

They’re not coming today. Why, Daniel? Don’t you want to talk to me about the case?

If you have some time… I said.

Yes, I have some time right now. She walked over to the drink dispenser and poured each of us a cup of red, cold liquid. Why so grim? she asked, handing me my drink.

I’ll lay it out for you, I said. Last month, you saved my life by running over a guy named Rafael. He’s a private detective who was supposedly on the same case.

Meaning you were supposed to be on the same side?

Right, but I discovered that he used to work for the Kremlin Casino in Vegas.

Is he still in the hospital?

I believe he’s at home under surveillance. They promised to tell us if that changes.

Aren’t you afraid of retribution?

Not really. But now that you’re obviously on my side…

You didn’t think I was on your side? she asked.

I meant that now that it’s obvious to the bad guys…

We’ve tightened security at the club since then, if you hadn’t noticed.

What about at your condo?

I keep a few security items around—alarms, sprays, that sort of thing.

Good.

Daniel, you’re the one I worry about.

Thanks. From what I’ve learned, Jimmy Sala may have ordered the murder of a congressman.

Reid Fairmont?

Very good.

He’s the only congressman ever abducted.

Kristos Papoulis told me that Jimmy said he was representing a Las Vegas client. Snake told me that Reid Fairmont’s replacement helped to have the MaDNet Regional Station in Las Vegas placed at the Kremlin’s front door.

So you have motive.

We also have two witnesses.

They both said the same thing?

One of them told me that Jimmy paid them big money to murder Reid Fairmont.

So you think that Jimmy was working for the Kremlin?

The money had to come from somewhere. As you say, he was a small-time maintenance guy, but he was irresistible to women.

Who chose you to take on the Kremlin, Danny boy? Why not turn this one over to the police?

Kristos Papoulis’s wife hired me to find the real killer, that ‘someone else’ who gave her husband the order.

Nice work. You’ll be rich.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much money—not anymore.

Who owns the Kremlin? Russians?

A Russian immigrant named Yuri Primakov owns the hotel and casino. He and his wife pretty much built them up from nothing.

I repeat, why not just report all this to the police?

This is a cold case. All I have is the word of a guy caught with three dead bodies.

What is the other brother saying?

He wouldn’t talk to me. My other witness is named Amber McFee.

Amber McFee the actress?

You’ve heard of her?

Harry and I went to one of her plays.

"American Nomad?"

Right. You saw it too?

I went to Kansas City looking for Miss McFee.

She was mixed up in the Reid Fairmont murder?

Yes. By her own admission, she was the bait used to trap him.

Then if the Kremlin was behind it, isn’t she in danger?

*****

I couldn’t raise Amber, so I left a message on her cyber-site. As I threw together a few things for a trip back to Kansas City, I felt a combination of urgency and uncertainty. If others knew that I knew that Amber was involved in Reid Fairmont’s murder, she might be in danger as Marcia had speculated. In addition, without her, I might have to face the Kremlin with no leverage whatsoever. However, when we had met, she had seemed quite unconcerned.

I arrived at MaDNet Regional Station San Diego to the music of metallic clicks as my car was positioned on the waiting platform for eastbound traffic. I had reserved a full-service frame—I wanted access to food, a shower, and a shave between San Diego and MRS KC. Was this an emergency, or were they blissfully ignorant at the Kremlin that Amber’s story was no longer buried with Jimmy Sala?

The frame began to pick up speed as it caught the intercity line that runs east above Interstate Highway 8 into southern Arizona and then entered the pneumatic tube for a direct shot to Albuquerque. When we emerged onto the monorail above 25 North, I called Snake.

Daniel, where are you?

I’m in my car on the Orange Rail south of Denver.

What’s up, young man?

I told him about what had happened so far. Then I said, Could you help me track Stork?

Sounds reasonable. I think they’re a little short-handed over there without Rafael Estrada or the Greeks, but Stork is still a threat. I’ll see what I can do. It can be tricky, even for a security guy, to track security guys.

*****

Wednesday, 6 November 2052, MaDNet Regional Station Kansas City, Missouri

My timing held some promise; I had arrived just as the play, American Nomad, was letting out. As I had on the weekend, I found the official-looking lady who had directed me to Amber.

You’re the one who helped me on Sunday.

Yes, I remember.

I need to meet with Amber McFee again.

I’m sorry, Mr…

Southern.

You must not have seen the play, Mr. Southern. Amber took the night off.

Does she do that often—take nights off?

I’m not at liberty to say, but I do expect her here tomorrow night.

Could I impose on you to contact her for me, ma’am? It’s urgent.

Remind me whom you represent.

I handed her a business card that said Daniel Southern, Private investigator specializing in MaDNet Affairs. For your own private use, ma’am. I’m working on a case. I have reason to believe that Miss McFee may be in danger.

You look a little young to be a private investigator.

You look a little young to be a theater manager, I countered.

She blushed. Thank you, but I’m probably old enough to be your mother. Wait here. I’ll see if I can reach Amber. She went into her office and closed the door.

*****

Mr. Southern, you can come in. I was able to reach her, but it’s voice only.

Amber, Mr. Southern is with me now.

Hello again, Mr. Southern.

Miss McFee, sorry to bother you on your night off, but I need to meet with you again.

Why?

All I can tell you is that it’s urgent.

That’s not much to go on. Why can’t you tell me now?

Because I don’t know who might be listening.

Sounds mysterious. I’ll meet you at the theater before my performance tomorrow night. Be there at sixteen-thirty and we can talk for a few minutes, like last time.

Okay, I’ll meet you at sixteen-thirty, tomorrow, at the theater.

Look in the kitchen.

Excuse me!

Oh, sorry—I’m with someone here. See you tomorrow.

*****

Thank you, Mrs …

"Dwyer, Julie