The Japanese Trilogy, Book 2 - The Invisible Manhunt (Lust, Money & Murder #14)

By Mike Wells

When Giorgio Cattoretti enlists the help of Elaine Brogan to track down the international serial killer he unknowingly let loose on the world, Elaine reluctantly agrees. She believes that the deranged murderer knows the location of The Factory, the illegal passport production facility that she’s been after for months. When Elaine and Luna Faye ask to be put in charge of the case, they’re forced to cooperate with a team of competing foreign crime specialists who, above all else, must not learn the killer’s true identity. Elaine’s relentless pursuit takes her from Lyon, France, to Kiev, Ukraine, to Budapest Hungary, to Dubai, UAE, and finally, to Barcelona, Spain.

Join Elaine, Luna and The Cat on another fast-paced, high-stakes Lust, Money & Murder adventure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Wells
• Release date: Oct 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463427293

Mike Wells

Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

Book preview

1

Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur, France

By the time Elaine Brogan turned the SUV into the driveway of the renovated farmhouse that she called home, she was still on autopilot.

She barely remembered any of the drive back from Marseille. Her mind had been completely preoccupied with the meeting with Giorgio Cattoretti, with everything that he had told her. She had never seen The Cat in such a discombobulated state, but now that she knew the whole story, it wasn’t surprising.

She felt a bit shaken by it herself. And who wouldn’t be? The man had inadvertently created a kind of modern Frankenstein who was loose somewhere out in the world, slashing women’s faces and throats. On top of that, the killer could also have Cattoretti put behind bars for life if he was captured and interrogated, which she knew was Giorgio’s main worry.

When Elaine finally brought the car to a stop in front of the house, it was almost eleven p.m. From the looks of the lighting inside, Tony, Nick, and the kids were already fast asleep, thank goodness.

Elaine felt like a teen sneaking back into the house after curfew. She hoped that Romeo and Juliet wouldn’t start barking. She felt a pang of guilt about secretly meeting with Cattoretti. At least she’d recovered the specially-designed, collapsible Sig Sauer pistol she had foolishly lent Cattoretti months ago. The toilet kit that contained the weapon was in her purse, along with the diamond earrings he’d given her which she swore she would never wear.

Fortunately, Romeo gave only one, perfunctory snap as she quietly got out of the SUV, as if to say, I know it’s you, Elaine, and I am aware of how late it is.

As soon as she opened the front door of the house, she knew from the succulent aroma that Tony had cooked his famous seafood pasta. She slipped off her shoes in the foyer and crept up the stairs, opening and closing the child gate at the top as quietly as she could. She then deposited her bag into the desk chair in her office. She would put the pistol back in its locked place in their walk-in closet tomorrow morning, when Nick was occupied—as far as she knew, he hadn’t discovered it missing. She had no idea what she would do with the earrings.

When she stepped into the bedroom, her husband appeared to be asleep, but he shifted underneath the covers, the shadowy outline of his head barely visible against the pillow.

Having another affair? he whispered groggily.

Ha ha ha, she said, setting down her shoes. He always enjoyed teasing her with loaded questions.

Seriously, it’s awfully late, honey…

I had to call in an unexpected situation to Interpol. This was the truth. As she undressed, she couldn’t resist telling Nick what she’d learned. It looks like we finally may have had a breakthrough in The Factory case.

Oh? he said, sounding more awake. He sat up a little in the bed.

There may be a serial killer who got hold of one of those passports. If so, he’s using it to cross international borders left and right, including UAE’s. Nick knew that the passport control system at the Dubai Airport was considered the most stringent in the world.

She could sense his surprise, even in the darkness.

"Did you say a serial killer?"

There have been three murders in three different countries and they may be connected. If they are, I think there’s a high probability the killer is using a Factory passport.

How did you find out about this?

An informant, Elaine said, without hesitation. This was true, too, more or less. Elaine and Luna had talked Martin Valdez into offering a fifty-thousand-euro reward for information leading to any individual or facility producing fake passports. Of course, that had nothing to do with Giorgio Cattoretti contacting her. But that’s how she would be using the information, as if he were an informant, the same way she’d done before—if she could use it, that was.

As she slid into the bed, Nick said, So, who is this informant, exactly?

We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Elaine sighed, as she snuggled up against him under the covers. I’m exhausted.

Hopefully, he would forget this question by the time he woke up tomorrow—she wouldn’t be around the house long enough for him to grill her. As soon as she took care of some things at her office in Marseille, she was planning on flying up to the Secret Service Headquarters in Lyon.

Nick dozed off almost instantly, but Elaine’s mind was so active that she was awake for at least an hour, thinking over how she could pitch the plan she’d been hatching to Luna.

It would not be an easy sell.

The following morning was a hectic one at the LaGrange-Brogan household, as they always were these days, with Tony feeding Amelia her breakfast, and Nick and Elaine getting Ryan ready for kindergarten.

After Elaine dropped Ryan off at school, she headed straight to her office and worked all day, nonstop, wolfing down a panini for lunch at her desk. If she was going to get Luna on board with this, she had to have all her ducks in a row—she couldn’t very well present the wrinkled stack of tabloid newspaper murder stories Cattoretti had given her to a former FBI agent and expect to be taken seriously.

Using official channels, she contacted police in the countries where the three murders had taken place—Ukraine, Hungary, and the United Arab Emirates—and asked for as much information as they were willing to release, saying that she was investigating a possible connection between the cases. The detectives in Hungary and UAE readily complied, but the police in the Ukraine were not very forthcoming. They sent little more than the data already available to the general public. She supposed this was understandable, since in their case, the victim was Galina Pogodina, a high-profile celebrity who rubbed elbows with Ukrainian and Russian elite, including government officials.

When she was satisfied that she’d gotten all the case data they would share, Elaine bound the information together into an official U.S. Secret Service notebook and put it in an envelope with Luna’s and Valdez’s names on it.

She spent another hour researching the history of serial killers. She had a feeling that there had been very few who had crossed so many international borders to commit their murders, and from what she had learned, she was right. With the exception of some American killers who had strayed north into Canada and south into Mexico, the only globetrotting serial killer in the Western world was an Austrian named Jack Unterweger. Known as The Vienna Strangler, he had killed at least twelve women in four different countries: The United States, Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia.

Elaine did not make any notes about this—she merely stuck it into the back of her mind, because she thought it might come in handy in convincing Luna to get involved.

At 6:15 p.m., Elaine finally tidied up her office and prepared to drive to the airport. She planned on catching the 8:50 flight to Lyon. Nick hadn’t been happy to hear that she was leaving for a few days but he understood the urgency.

With her office door closed, Elaine quietly retrieved the jewelry box Giorgio had given her from her bag. She had changed her mind about leaving the earrings at home—if Nick ever found them, he really would think she was having an affair.

As she started to close the little box, she paused and gazed at the earrings, with their glittering pink gemstones.

It really was a shame she wouldn’t wear them.

2

The flight from Marseille to Lyon was almost two hours late taking off due to bad weather. It was nearly midnight when Elaine’s taxi finally arrived in the city center at Luna’s apartment.

Luna opened the front door wearing a pair of black sweat pants and a top that showed off her muscular frame. Elaine blinked once—Luna had recently changed her hairstyle. It was done in cornrows, with colorful beads hanging on the ends of the braids. The new style somehow made her look even more intimidating and beautiful at the same time, like an African queen.

Nice earrings, Luna said.

Thanks, Elaine said, a little self-consciously.

Those are just darling, baby-doll. Nick…?

Elaine hesitated. She hadn’t thought they would be so noticeable, but the flight had been stuffy and she’d pulled her hair up. A secret admirer.

Luna chuckled. I could use one of those. She grabbed Elaine’s bag with one of her strong arms and hauled it into the living room. How about a glass of wine? she said, over her shoulder. Or something with a bit more kick…?

Wine would be perfect, thanks.

Luna stepped over to the bar in the corner and poured two glasses of a French red. So, you finally have something useful from an informant? That’s all Elaine had told her in a text message. We’re dead in the water on this case.

Luna was right. They had tried everything conceivable to track down The Factory, but none of the approaches worked. Elaine’s idea of analyzing the materials used in other fake passports had been a wash—she had concluded that whoever was running the factory was a perfectionist who had not sold any fake documents until he had the process down pat. Their latest idea of offering a reward had not led them any closer to finding the facility, either. While they had made a few small busts as a result of the effort, all the forgers were typical, independent ‘cobbler’ types, working alone in the corner of some dark warehouse. Some of the fake documents they cranked out wouldn’t even pass for IDs to pick up packages at the post office, let alone allow criminals to cross tightly-controlled international borders like UAE’s.

With Luna standing there waiting, Elaine took another sip of her wine—none of her mentally rehearsed ways of getting her colleague behind her plan seemed remotely workable now.

Well? Luna said impatiently. What have you got?

Steeling herself for Luna’s reaction, Elaine pulled out the envelope that contained the report she had prepared and handed it over.

What’s this? Luna said, clearly caught off guard, as she eyed the label:

---

TOP SECRET, EYES ONLY:

1) MARTIN VALDEZ

2) LUNA FAYE

---

Elaine took a deep breath. Without using Cattoretti’s name, she dove headlong into the details of the three murders he had told her about, telling Luna the same thing she’d told Nick, that there was a serial killer on the loose who had used a Factory-produced passport to cross a number of different borders, including UAE’s.

"I hate to tell you this, baby-doll, but the behavior you’re describing would be way off profile for the average serial killer. They don’t have the money to buy ten thousand-euro passports. Plus, they almost always do their killing locally. It’s very rare for one to cross international bord—"

There’s more to it, Luna.

Okay…

Prior to going on this killing spree, the man changed his face, voice, eye color and even his fingerprints.

What do you mean, ‘changed’? How?

Through robotic-assisted surgery.

Okay…how did you find out about this? Who’s the informant?

The doctor, sort of.

"The doctor who did the surgery turned him in? After changing the man’s face and fingerprints?"

Yes, once they figured out he had started committing these murders, they did. They believe the man has gone on a revenge spree. He seems to be killing every woman who ever insulted his looks.

They...? Luna eyed Elaine suspiciously. What are you holding back, baby-doll?

Elaine gave a long sigh, holding tightly onto the wine glass as if it could give her support.

The killer had the surgery done at Panacea. The informant is Giorgio Cattoretti.

Luna’s mouth dropped open. "No-no-no. No! For the love of god, Elaine, how could you get mixed up with him again!"

I didn’t get ‘mixed up’ with him, Luna—he brought me this information. What am I supposed to do with it, ignore it?

Oh boy oh boy oh boy, Luna muttered. From beneath the bar, she pulled out an ordinary glass and splashed some vodka into it. Before I hear any more of this, I need something stronger than wine…

As she gulped down the drink, she glared at Elaine over the rim of the glass. Elaine realized she was eyeing the earrings again.

Please don’t tell me he gave you those.

They’re just souvenirs, diamonds from the mine in Sudan. I only wanted to wear them once before I donate them to charity. I’m going to send the money to that Doctors Without Borders clinic in Darfur. Elaine paused. Don’t look at me like that, Luna.

Luna gulped down the rest of the vodka.

There was an awkward silence.

Well? Are you going to fill me in on the details? Before Elaine could answer, she said, What makes you think the maniac who’s killing these women has a Factory-produced passport?

"If he crossed all these borders including UAE’s, how can he not have one of them? There are no other fakes that could possibly allow a person to seamlessly cross all those borders. Plus, he asked Cattoretti about The Factory before he had the surgery."

What did he do to make him want to change his identity?

He didn’t want to change his identity as much as he wanted to be handsome again, according to Giorgio. He’s Ukrainian—his name is Mihail Ruchkov. He was severely disfigured in the war in Afghanistan. His nickname, behind his back, was Quasimodo.

Elaine took another sip of wine and then began carefully recounting everything that Cattoretti had said in greater detail, starting with his plan to add the NewLife identity-change service to the list of Panacea’s offerings.

"I knew he had some ulterior motive for getting his hands on that clinic, Luna said, shaking her head. I don’t see how you can trust that man again, after all he’s done to you. Luna sighed. Are you sure he doesn’t own The Factory?"

They had discussed this a couple of times since they had been working on the case together, knowing that it seemed exactly like the kind of business Cattoretti would set up.

That theory makes no sense anymore. Why would he come to me for help? If he owned The Factory and made the fake passport himself, he wouldn’t have any trouble tracking down Mihail Ruchkov.

Who is this Ruchkov to Cattoretti? How do they know each other?

They were friends, through Leonid Lukin.

Lukin...the arms dealer?

Right. Mihail worked for Lukin until recently—they had some kind of falling out. Mihail agreed to be Giorgio’s test case for NewLife, the first person to receive all four of the operations.

Luna only grunted, looking doubtful. And what would Ruchkov’s motive have been in these killings?

Revenge. Giorgio says that he met each of the dead women in the past, and they insulted his looks, made fun of his disfigurement, called him names. From the photographs, it appears all three of them were quite beautiful.

And if Ruchkov is arrested, he’ll finger Giorgio for helping him change his face and fingerprints…which means Giorgio will be arrested, Panacea will be shut down, and The Cat will spend the rest of his time in prison in one country or another. There are—what, five countries now— who want to get their hands on him?

Look, I don’t blame you if you don’t want to get involved in this. Elaine motioned to the notebook. But I would appreciate it if you would at least take a look at the three murder cases and see if you think they could be connected.

Fair enough. Luna picked up the envelope, tore it open, and they both sat down on the couch.

Luna thumbed through the pages of the report slowly. She stopped on a photo that showed a bloody female hand, wearing a gold bracelet, stretched out on a blood-spattered carpet.

Elaine looked away—all the grisly photos were printed in lurid color. She didn’t have the stomach for it.

Well, Luna said, "the murder weapon of choice seems to be a box cutter in two of the cases, and could also be in the third one, when the corpse was blown to bits by the explosion. The wounds, the hacking up of the faces, seem similar. Just from a cursory glance at this material I would say, yes, they could be connected. She closed the notebook. What difference does it make?"

What do you mean?

"Believe it or not, I’m inclined to agree with you, baby-doll. It may be a decent lead. But it’s a long shot. If the police can manage to catch this guy, and if we can interrogate him and get something out of him about The Factory, offering him preferential treatment or something, maybe we can find the facility. He will probably commit a lot more murders like this before he’s apprehended. Many serial killers are never caught. Plus, the fact that he’s crossing borders makes that even more unlikely, with all the investigations having to be coordinated through Interpol."

We can’t just leave this up to Interpol, Luna.

Luna frowned. What’s that supposed to mean?

Elaine didn’t respond—she merely took another sip of her wine, gazing steadily at her friend.

I don’t like the look on your face, Elaine. Have you forgotten which branch of law enforcement we work for? We don’t track down serial killers.

You’re a former FBI agent, Luna. You have a wealth of experience in profiling and capturing these kinds of maniacs.

So? Luna raised her voice a little. What does that have to do with anything?

Elaine shrugged. We could sell Valdez on the idea, and he could pull some strings, loan you out to Interpol on a temporary basis, arrange for you to be put in charge of this case. Based on your FBI experience, I’m sure your track record with serial killers is far better than any other Interpol detective on the Lyon staff. Elaine paused. Besides that, we’re the first law enforcement agents to tie these three murders together. That will count for a lot.

Luna was staring at Elaine like she was crazy.

What else have we got to go on? Elaine said, raising her voice. I’m just as sick and tired of working on the damn Factory case as you are! Valdez is losing faith in us. Tracing the materials didn’t work, offering the reward didn’t work, and interrogating the people who’ve been caught with them hasn’t worked, either. We’re out of options!

Luna reluctantly turned back to the first page of the report with an expression that seemed to say I can’t believe I’m considering getting involved in this and started reading it again, this time much more slowly and carefully.

After a moment Luna looked completely absorbed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

By the time Elaine decided to go to bed, she still wasn’t sure if Luna would go along with her idea or not. Luna said she would sleep on it and let Elaine know her decision in the morning.

Elaine climbed the stairs feeling dead tired, but satisfied. She had pitched her idea as best she could—if Luna refused to get involved, she would just have to figure out some way to tell Cattoretti that she couldn’t help him, that she had to turn all the information over to Interpol.

As Elaine climbed the stairs, she pushed all this from her mind and tried to enjoy herself. She loved staying at Luna’s house. There was a small guest bedroom on the third floor, furnished with French antiques, including a charming four poster bed, which faced towards the interior courtyard of the building, which made it very quiet. Spending the night there gave her the same warm, cozy feeling she’d always had whenever she stayed at her grandmother’s in Texas. Luna was her best friend in the world. Being significantly older than Elaine, Luna was like the big sister she never had.

As she slipped between the fresh-smelling sheets, she immediately fell into a deep slumber.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, there was a sharp knock on the door and it burst open.

Up and at ‘em, Brogan! Luna barked.

Wh—what time is it? Elaine mumbled.

It’s six-thirty, girl! The overhead light came on, bright light shining in her face. Rise and shine!

This is where staying at Luna’s and staying at her sweet, kindly grandma’s house differed dramatically.

It can’t be six-thirty! Elaine thought. It seemed like only five minutes had passed. She strained to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, squinting. Incredibly, the hands clearly showed 6:30.

Up, up, up! Luna said, bumping her running-shoe-clad foot against the bed frame to punctuate each word. This ain’t no country club, girl!

Elaine groaned and halfway rose in the bed, squinting, her head aching a little from the wine. Luna turned to the open suitcase and snatched up a few items, tossing them at her. T-shirt—hoodie—socks. Here’s your trainers. The shoes thudded to the carpeted floor.

You’re a monster! Elaine hissed.

A few minutes later they had both finished their stretches and were jogging slowly through the Presqu’île or peninsula section of Lyon. The historic area where Luna and her husband, Walter, lived was well known for its abundance of trendy cafés, restaurants, boutiques and elegant old buildings.

At this ungodly hour it seemed deserted, however—the French were not early risers. The rain had stopped, and the sky above the slumbering city was painted with deep violet and yellowish hues.

When they reached the Rhône River, they turned south, with Luna leading Elaine along a pedestrian and cycling path that followed the riverbank. Elaine knew the route well—they ran it every time she came to stay, but usually not so early. It would be a 7k run that paralleled the river down to where it joined the smaller Saône River, then back up along the other Western side, through a lovely section of the city.

For the first couple of kilometers, every muscle in Elaine’s body screamed in protest. The temperature was no more than forty degrees, with a brisk wind across the river.

You’re doing this…to get even, she managed to say in between painful breaths.

"Moi? Luna said, glancing over, vapor pluming from her mouth. You mean because you’re trying to drag me back into the same kind of work that I left behind over a decade ago?"

Don’t give me that. You loved being an FBI agent, and you know it.

Luna merely grunted.

When they reached the route’s halfway point, they crossed a bridge and headed back north. The city was beginning to awaken now—they passed a few bleary-eyed shop owners unlocking their doors, and the smell of freshly-baked baguettes and French coffee filled the air.

Now, the endorphins had finally kicked in and Elaine was feeling better, running comfortably and breathing steadily. Her ankle hurt a little at times—it had still not completely healed after breaking it when she had chased down Raj Malik at the Charles De Gaulle Airport—but usually if she just ignored it, the pain subsided.

Their return route took them through the city’s botanical gardens, passing by an ancient Roman amphitheater, and then gradually uphill until they reached the base of the magnificent Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière, the highest point in the city. The basilica also marked the end of the 7k route.

They both stopped and caught their breath, winded from the last, steep leg of the run, and gazed out at the view, which was spectacular, especially at this hour. The sun had risen and the muted colors of the dawn sky had erupted into brilliant patches of orange, pink and indigo.

From this vantage point, you could see at least half of the two-thousand-year-old French city, including a bit of the green Parc de la Tête D’Or, where the Interpol Headquarters was located.

Luna began doing more stretches, looking down at the pavement, concentrating.

Elaine could stand the suspense no longer.

Well? she said. Now that you’ve mercilessly tortured me for daring to ask that you apply your hard-earned skills at the FBI to this Factory case, are you going to tell me what you’ve decided?

Luna glanced at Elaine and chuckled. She stopped stretching and gazed out at the sunrise. You know, it’s interesting. In terms of geographic scope, the serial killer who comes closest to this suspect is Jack Unterweger. They called him ‘The Vienna Strangler.’ A nasty piece of work. A master con artist, too.

I read about him yesterday, Elaine said.

He started by killing a woman in Austria and was convicted. But then, he began writing poetry and plays in prison and came to the attention of the Vienna literary elite, who took this to mean he had been rehabilitated. After he’d served fifteen years, they got him released on parole. As soon as he was out, the son-of-a-bitch killed a dozen more women in three more countries, including the United States. Strangled them all with their own bra straps.

Elaine shuddered. That is unbelievable.

Luna glanced at her and gave her a gentle smile. You were right, baby-doll. Despite all the gore, I do miss catching serial killers. She paused. But the thought of having to work with Giorgio Cattoretti on this…

We won’t have to work with him much.

Oh yes we will. We’ll have to go to Panacea and meet with him to gather as much data as possible on Mihail Ruchkov, at the very least.

Please, Luna?

Luna gazed at Elaine and finally said, "Okay, I’m in. If we can sell Valdez on the idea."

Thank you.

Luna pointed at her. But this has to be temporary, just this one case. The last thing I want is to turn myself into a full-time homicide detective for Interpol.

That’s not going to happen, Elaine said. I’ll make sure of it.

3

It was ten o’clock when Elaine and Luna arrived at Interpol Headquarters, leaving only an hour to plan for their meeting with Martin Valdez—their appointment with him was at eleven.

Entering the massive, tightly secure, six-story building was relatively easy for Elaine now. Even though her office was in Marseille, she had been issued an official Interpol ID, finally. The fact that this had taken years only underscored the organization’s sluggish bureaucracy. Even though it was international in scope, its headquarters were in France, and everything was done with French efficiency, as Luna often joked.

They passed by the swath of two-inch thick bulletproof glass emblazoned with the Interpol logo in the lobby and were soon riding the atrium elevator up to the fifth floor, where the U.S. Secret Service offices were located.

When they entered Luna’s space and shut the door, Elaine said, Listen, there is one detail I didn’t emphasize last night, and it may be a sticky point for Valdez.

Luna slowly set her satchel down on her desk, gazing uneasily at Elaine. Uh-oh…

Up until about six months ago, Mihail Ruchkov was Leonid Lukin’s right-hand man. Lukin is Ukrainian by birth, but he’s in Russia’s pocket, supplies arms for a lot of their covert operations in other countries.

Hmm...that makes this geo-political. You’re right—Valdez might not want to touch it.

On the other hand, it might make the case more attractive to him. Higher visibility.

True, Luna admitted. In almost a whisper, she added, The man’s ambitions are sky high, that’s for sure.

They spent a few minutes trying to guess how Martin Valdez would react to that aspect of the case, but there were simply too many variables to make an accurate prediction.

I say we just go full open-kimono with him, Luna said. We share everything and let him decide if he wants us to pursue it.

Elaine lowered her voice. Everything but the name of our informant.

Right, Luna said. Everything but that.

4

Lyon, France

The meeting with Martin Valdez went smoother than either Elaine or Luna had anticipated.

Elaine laid out everything ‘full open-kimono,’ as Luna called it, giving Valdez a copy of the top-secret document she’d prepared on the three murders. She explained that they had an informant who had convinced them that there was one man behind the crimes. If that was true, it meant he was crossing border after border, including UAE’s, with a passport that could only be produced by The Factory.

He had his identity changed surgically, Elaine explained.

And who is your informant?

"The people who did the surgery. When the bandages were taken off his face,