Vengeance is Mine

By G. P. Rehder

Vengeance Is Mine is the third book in the Jason Orr series. For the reader who has not read book 1, Death Is Not the Final Chapter, or book 2, Head of the Snake, Rehder wrote his third novel so a new reader can pick it up and quickly get engrossed in the storyline. Jason Orr's life has taken him all over the globe. Vengeance Is Mine is no different. This novel finds Orr in Ukraine and Russia. When he is away from the US, his nemesis Joseph Lehan pursues a vindictive mission against the last of Orr's family. Friends in the States are willing to intercede. Will their intercession be enough? For Orr, what started out to be a quiet visit with a longtime friend, Ukrainian Eleana Vovk, quickly turns into a desperate search. The search leads them into the dark world of the Russian Mafia, the Solntsevskaya Bravta. Orr willingly takes a back seat to Eleana, who is on her home turf. He has faith in her and her background as an ex-agent with the SBU (Ukrainian Secret Police). During their hunt, they are connected with several unknown operatives that they will have to depend on for their very survival. Then there are those they come against that would do anything to stay in power, even if it means taking Jason's and Eleana's lives. Will their search succeed, will they die during their effort, or will the events that unfold in the end shock them to their very core?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637103364

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dearly beloved avenge not yourselves

but rather give place unto wrath:

for it is written,

Vengeance is mine:

I will repay, saith the Lord.

Romans 12:19

Her school bus was an old KAvZ 663, manufactured somewhere in Russia around 1966. It was rusting from the inside out since the paint on the outside was thick and new, holding it together. Coats and coats had been applied over the years, blue on the bottom half and white on the top. The seats inside were well-worn and had never been reupholstered. There was an ever-present odor inside it, not really recognizable, a mix from the passengers of days gone by and the perfumes from the current group of girls who now rode its rural route.

The bus driver was older, yet the girls just called him by his last name, Loboda. He was always unshaven and rarely bathed. The girls riding his bus always sat far back within the eight rows to avoid his odor. The bus route was a twelve-kilometer round trip out of the Andruka girls’ school in Sen’Kivka, Ukraine, and back. Loboda bragged in the local tavern that he could drive it blindfolded; at times, it seemed like he did. He was always impaired in some way, probably drove it drunk most of the time, at least on the afternoon run.

When the route began, he would pull out from the school onto Lenina Vulytsia and head west onto Yuriya Gagarina ulista. He was assigned to the country route where most of the teenaged girls lived on farms. The first stop would be at the intersection of T1004. Two girls got off there. Then he would head northeast on T1004 toward P-13 were there was an old unused three-point checkpoint between Ukraine, Russia, and Belarus. At this stop, he would drop off three more girls, turn around, and head southwest down T1004.

Along that stretch, he would drop off six more girls at different stops, then drop the last one where Lenina ulista intersected with T1004, just outside the small village of Horobiyivka.

His last passenger, Agalya Vovk, got off there. She lived with her grandmother, and recently, an aunt in a small farmhouse hidden behind a large grove of robinia and conifer trees planted over a hundred years before as a windbreak.

At this last stop, as the bus pulled over on the side of T1004, Loboda pulled far ahead of Agalya’s normal stop, past the long road that led to her house, all the while checking his side mirrors carefully. Not for the safety of his last passenger’s exit, he was more preoccupied watching to make sure the black Skoda Octavia was pulling over also, a little farther back on the north side of Agalya’s road home.

It did.

The late afternoon brought a high of seven degrees Celsius outside. As the bus stopped, Agalya pulled up the hood on her thick winter coat, then stood up in the aisle, ready to exit. She had noticed that Loboda had stopped seventy-five meters south from her normal stop.

He was always rude to her, making vulgar comments because at this point, it was only just the two of them left on the bus. Pulling as far ahead as he did made her think he was just being mean, especially since she always ignored his sordid flirtations.

She walked forward down the aisle, trying not to look at the old man. When she was next to the driver’s seat, he grabbed the chrome handle by the dash to open the bifold door. He pulled it open, and she stepped down to exit. Suddenly, he pulled it back, slamming the door in her face.

Agalya turned and glared at him. He grinned at her, showing his crooked teeth.

Aren’t you going to say goodbye? he asked mockingly.

Let me out, Loboda! I’ve told my aunt about you. She’s not afraid of anyone, especially an old man like you. Now let me out!

Okay, pretty young one, but someday soon you will miss old Loboda. He was laughing now. As he maneuvered the door open again, Agalya jumped out quickly, almost slipping on the wet gravel on the side of the road.

As she got out, she looked to her right, down the side of the road, the direction she would have to walk to get to her road home. There was a problem: a black vehicle was sitting there on the side next to the road with its engine running. She would have to walk right next to the car to reach the road. As she turned and looked back at the bus door, she could see Loboda sitting there watching her, still grinning. Then he closed its door and pulled the bus ahead, leaving her standing alone alongside T1004.

She stood there, deciding what to do. She didn’t want to walk by the car, yet in front of her was the muddy field, then the Robinia grove, the most direct route home if she didn’t take the road. She looked at the black car. There were two men inside, nobody she recognized and no one from the village or a local farm.

She wisely decided to cut through the muddy field that lay in front of her. Once she made it to the grove, she knew the paths inside it. She thought she could move through it hidden from the car’s view. Once through the grove, she would be on the road again and just a short distance from her home.

Moving ahead into the field, her boots sank deep into the mud and made it difficult to walk, but her pace was steady, as fast as she could go. She looked at the vehicle. It hadn’t moved—so far so good—but the men still seemed to be watching her. She walked on, then when she turned to look again, the car had driven to the entrance of her gravel road. It hesitated briefly, then proceeded down it, heading in the direction of her destination.

She watched it as it slowly outpaced her. She knew it would get to the far side of the grove before she finally made it to that side. When she lost sight of it behind the trees, she kept up her pace, hoping that once she made it into the grove, she could find a place to hide. And they wouldn’t come looking.

Her breathing was hard and rapid, the fast pace and her fear were bringing on a desperate panic, a panic that was new to her. Finally, inside the grove, she stopped. There was silence, no birds, and no leaves to catch the wind. The only sounds she heard was her beating heart and her heavy breathing.

The grove was dense; she was at least a kilometer from the far edge and the road home.

Then she remembered her special place, a large Oak tree with a trunk that had a hollow in its side. She would go there in the warmer months, pretending it was magical, a place she could go to forget the pain of losing her parents, a place she could go to be alone to talk to them.

Agalya found it. Although the grove looked different in the fall, all the leaves were off the robinia trees, but she recognized her place right away. She threw in her book bag, then wedged her body into it as far as she could, hoping it could be a hideaway from anyone who may come looking for her.

She sat as deep inside it as she could get, waiting, listening for sounds, as her own heart began to beat slower and her breathing was becoming normal.

She was starting to feel safe.

Five minutes had passed; to Agalya, it felt much longer. Then she heard it, a branch snapping, then steps rustling through the fallen leaves. She held her breath and closed her eyes. If she didn’t see them, maybe they wouldn’t see her, she thought.

The scuffing through the leaves grew closer, then just a few feet away. She hunkered against the damp walls inside the hollow, pushing her body as tight in as it would go.

Then she heard a voice, a man’s voice saying softly, We see you in there, come out we will do you no harm. Agalya looked out of her hideout, two men wearing long black coats and leather gloves were standing tall above her, their breath steaming in the cold air.

Come, we will give you a ride. We were sent to get you. Your grandmother is ill. She is in the hospital in Boryspil.

I don’t believe you, Agalya said. My grandmother is at home, waiting for me.

No, Agalya, she is terribly ill. She sent us.

If you were sent for me, tell me my grandmother’s name.

When she asked that question, the younger of the two men grabbed her arm, pulling her out forcibly, then he held onto both her arms, pinning them behind her back. The older man pulled a damp rag from a plastic bag in his pocket and placed it over her nose. Agalya fell to her knees, her mind began to spin, and she quickly lost consciousness.

Chapter 2

Katzi Bar-Lev and his security crew reached Kindley Field in three Sarnev International vehicles he had commandeered from Joseph Lehan’s Bermuda compound. All their weapons, tech gear, and personal belongings were with them. They left a small group of Lehan’s private force secured in the underground barracks, for how long Katzi did not know.

He did know that when they freed themselves, they would be in pursuit, on the ground and on the water. All their airpower (helicopters and jets) were still on the ground at Kindley. Time was still on Katzi’s side.

When they drove onto the tarmac, they saw the Sarnev Bombardier sitting in silence. He knew it had five bodies on board. They headed directly to the plane to pick up Katzi’s deceased partner, Hava Fromer. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was Eric Mackey, the top pilot for Sarnev, who bravely rescued the remaining Masada security force from the Russian assassins.

Mackey waved at the motorcade as it pulled in. He had his two bags sitting on the ground next to him and the cargo door open at the back of the plane.

When Katzi got out of the first vehicle, he approached Mackey and extended his hand.

Thank you, my friend, he said as he grabbed Mackey’s hand, then pulled him close and hugged him hard.

Mackey pulled back and said, Man, I’m so sorry. I did all I could have done.

I know, I know, Mack. You weren’t even there at the church. What you did was take control at the airport in Vladimir and get everyone out of harm’s way.

Katzi looked at Mack with a tear in his eye. We got a chartered flight out of here just down the runway. I’m gonna secure Hava’s body and get my crew off the island as soon as possible. Lehan is not happy with my sudden departure. His private force was locked in the barracks when we left the compound. He’s probably got them out by now and on their way after us.

You got room for another passenger? Mack asked.

You quitting, Sarnev, too?

Yep, I’m done. I know way to much about Lehan and his criminal activity. Just a matter of time before he connects me to Jason Orr and what he’s been doing to circumvent Sarnev’s illicit businesses. Where’s your flight heading?

Trenton, Robbinsville, small and easy in and out. Trenton is where Hava and I lived when we weren’t traveling.

Man, that’s gotta be karma. That’s close to where my girlfriend, Margaret Archer, lives. She’s in Jackson Mills.

You’re welcome to fly out with us. Let’s get Hava out of the plane and get moving, Katzi said.

They moved quickly to the bombardier and had Hava’s body bag moved into a car, then to the chartered jet. They were taxiing to the runway when they saw eight Sarnev vehicles enter into the airport grounds heading their direction at high speed. Their attempt to catch up to the ascending jet was futile.

When they were at cruising altitude and the seat belt sign was off, Mack moved down the aisle and sat next to Katzi.

I think we have a lot to tell each other, Mack started.

Yeah, you’re right we do. You wanna go first?

"Yeah, the first thing I want to tell you about is Jason Orr. He is not the culprit Joseph Lehan has made him out to be. In fact, Lehan’s lies about the man are criminal. Orr’s an honorable man, a war hero, who not only served his country in Afghanistan but spent years protecting two presidents, one for his last year in office, the other for two years, then he retired from the secret service.

"He started working for Sarnev International right after that as the head of their security operation worldwide. He saved Andre Sarnev from certain death on more than one occasion. During his time with Sarnev, his advanced training with the Secret Service made him suspicious and led him to believe that Sarnev, mostly Joseph Lehan, was involved in illegitimate activities globally.

"He began confirming his beliefs and put together a file outlining a lot of these illicit activities. He took the file to Taos, New Mexico, to a trusted Army buddy, guy named Mike Groves. But Lehan had a spy in Orr’s ranks. He was with him in Taos when Orr gave Groves the file to hide. Orr didn’t know that the spy was even aware of the file. He had secretly listened in on Groves and Orr when the file changed into Groves’s hands.

"Well, the spy, dude named Dobbins, whom Orr had trusted as a fellow veteran, went back to Taos, unknown to Orr. He hurt Groves bad, broke both his hands to get the file from him. Orr found all that out when he came back to Bermuda after a Sarnev protection operation.

"Earlier, when Orr’s good friends Peter Grayden and Sarah Mercer were killed in a plane crash, Orr suspected foul play. When he got back to Bermuda, he was in the process of confronting Lehan about the deaths when Lehan and Dobbins tried to take him into their custody and then take him out. Lehan had decided to eliminate Orr, and the threat he posed in exposing him.

Through Orr’s own prowess he was able to escape, taking two of his loyal friends with him. There’s a lot more to the story, but that kinda gives you the gist and why I advised you to leave Sarnev International as soon as you could. And why Joseph Lehan is so obsessed with finding Jason Orr.

I had my own suspicions about the story Lehan was giving me on Orr, Katzi responded. I did my own research on Orr. The guy was a decorated war veteran, retired from the Secret Service with accolades from the president and, by all accounts, like you said, an honorable man. It didn’t add up.

There is one thing for certain. Joseph Lehan is a liar, a criminal, and a manipulator. Although he’s never pulled the trigger, that I know of, he has ordered the murders of many people, Mack said.

Katzi then gave Mack a condensed history of his life and what brought him into the corporate security business. When he talked about Hava Fromer, Mack understood the reason for the tear he saw in Katzi’s eye when they met on the tarmac. Hava and Katzi were engaged to be married. They wanted to get their new commitments to Sarnev International finalized first, then they would take a little time off for a wedding.

Instead, he was bringing her body back home to a mortuary, then a funeral in Israel, not the wedding they had been planning.

Before Katzi and his crew got to Kindley Field, Mack had made a call to his longtime on-and-off-again girlfriend, Margaret Archer. It was hard to have a relationship when you were flying all over the globe at a moment’s notice. Being on call, needing to be close to an airport where a Sarnev jet was being hangared. It had been a strain on them and was the cause of many disagreements.

When Margaret picked up his call, she didn’t seem all that happy to hear from him. Then he said to her, I just want you to know I’m now retired, for good. He heard a long pause on the other end.

When she finally responded to his announcement, she said, Mack, you have never lied to me, ever. As hard as things have been at times, I have always trusted you and hoped this day would come.

Well, it has, and I am so ready. I don’t have time to go into details, but when we are together, we’ll have all the time in the world to talk.

I’m at Kindley in Bermuda, ironically trying to find a flight off the island, not on a Sarnev jet. I’m hoping to get into JFK as soon as I can. When I get there, I’ll rent a car and head to Jackson Mill. I’ll call you when I land, and, Maggie, I can’t wait to see you.

Have a safe flight. Get here soon, Mack. I can’t wait either.

They were in midflight over the Atlantic, and Mack asked Katzi if he had a sat phone.

Yeah, in my bag in the overhead.

Can I borrow it? I need to make a call to New Jersey. Don’t think my cell has any reception?

Help yourself.

Mack got up and got the phone from the overhead.

He powered it up and dialed Maggie’s number. It took several minutes before the connection was made. He heard Maggie’s voice on the other end. Hello, who is this?

Maggie, it’s me.

Mack, I didn’t recognize the number. It said caller unknown.

Yeah, I borrowed a sat phone. I’m in the air over the Atlantic heading for Trenton Robbinsville Airport, hitched a ride from a friend on a charter flight. Should be on the ground in about an hour. He held his hand over the phone and asked Katzi, Do you know what gate we’re arriving at?

Yeah, really easy. There’s only a couple. Just tell her 1423 hrs.

Maggie, can you pick me up in front of the terminal around 1430 p.m.?

If you let me drive the Z, she answered.

Heck yeah, least I can do if you’re picking me up.

All right, Mack, I’ll be waiting outside the terminal. See you soon.

Chapter 3

I landed at Boryspil International (KGP) in Ukraine almost twenty-three hours after my departure from Albuquerque, New Mexico. I tried, but I don’t sleep well in planes. After three transfers, I was lucky the little luggage I had was still with me, but finally my time in the air was over.

I walked out of the gate area where I was anxious to see my dear friend Eleana Vovk. So much had happened since I saw her last. We had much to catch up on. As I scanned the people outside the gate area, I didn’t see her tall, slender frame anywhere outside a roped-off portion. She knew my flight schedule, and we confirmed it all when I phoned her the morning before, but she was nowhere in sight.

She was a precise person, always on time and a good communicator. I checked my cell phone and saw a message I didn’t see on the plane. It probably just registered on my voice mail after I was on the ground.

I hit 1 for my messages. There was only one.

Jason, this is Eleana. I won’t make it to the airport. I’m so sorry. I have a family emergency and am sending a good friend to pick you up. His name is Rustem Hycha, a small man, fifty-eight years, close cropped beard, dark and gray. I gave him your description. I hope you still have your beard. He will find you, I’m sure, outside of passport verification. I am so sorry. See you soon, my friend.

I saved the message and walked farther down the large corridor following the crowd into the line for passport and ID checks. I had no problem getting on any of my flights so far, three of them international. My false ID had passed all the tests. I was confident.

When it was finally my turn, I stepped up to an open counter and handed over all my paperwork to the male security clerk. The man didn’t look up at me as he shuffled through my documents. When he finally did, he looked at me sternly, studying my face and glancing at my passport photo. The he asked in Ukrainian, Do you speak Ukrainian?

I answered in broken Polish, Nr ah maly Polski, ah maly Rosyjski [no, a little Polish, a little Russian]. Then I said, I speak English well.

So I do also, he answered in English. Then he asked me, Where is your destination from here?

I have a friend that lives outside of Horobiyivka, on a small farm. I am going to be there for a short visit.

How long?

I’m not sure. Her mother is ill, and I hope to help her out for a time.

And both their names, your friend and her mother?

Eleana Vovk. Her mother’s name is Oksana Vovk.

He was looking at me, studying me for any hint of a prevarication. Are you planning on going out of the country by any other modes of transportation besides air flight?

It is not in my plans. I plan on spending the whole time in Horobiyivka until I leave to go back to New York, through this airport.

And no return ticket at this time?

No.

He looked down, checking my papers one more time, then pulled a stamp from the side of his counter and stamped my passport on several pages. He looked up again and said, If you leave Ukraine by rail or road, make sure you get stamped at the time of your exit and again upon your return. If you leave Ukraine without a passport stamp, you may be held for questioning if you attempt to return. Understood?

Understood, I replied.

He handed back my documents, and I walked away, feeling some relief. At least I’m in country, I thought.

The baggage claim was easy to find. There were several signs that read Baraxky all pointed to the corridor to my right. I had one bag to retrieve, and I hoped it was on a belt when I got there. I found my plane flight’s number flashing on the sign above a conveyer. A crowd was pushed in, pulling off bags and then scurrying about, looking for rides or loved ones. I waited for the crowd to thin, then spotted my green duffel. I grabbed it, turned around, and saw a small man was standing two feet behind me.

Alan Ames? he asked.

Yes, you are Rustem? I responded.

Tak, tak, vi-ta-ju (Yes, yes, greetings).

I understood him a little. I thought he said, Yes, greetings.

I nodded in affirmation, and he gestured for me to follow him.

He grabbed the bag from my hand and walked briskly in front of me. I followed him outside. There was a chill in the air. I put on the coat I had been carrying. We walked across the main thoroughfare and into a large parking lot.

He walked to the back of an older vehicle, opened the trunk, and placed my bag inside, then walked to the left side and unlocked my door and held it open for me, smiling the whole time. He seemed proud of his car, no doubt, a clean 1962 ZAZ 965.

I climbed in, and he went around and joined me on the driver’s side.

He looked over at me and said, Hemac (no American).

I repeated to him, No English.

Tak, he answered me.

I knew the trip would be a little longer without a conversation. In a way, I was grateful. I was dead tired.

He pulled out of the parking lot. It was busy. This airport was the main hub for Ukraine air traffic, bigger than the airport outside Kyiv. There was no way around it. We had to go directly into Boryspil to get to the highway that would take us northeast toward Horobiyivka. I was surprised at the amount of traffic on the road. It was hard to relax as Rustem maneuvered awkwardly through the city streets to get to the open highway. Once we were on it, I relaxed a little as we drove out into the farmlands that encircled the east side of the city.

Rustem seemed more relaxed also. I could tell he did little driving outside the countryside where I assumed he lived. There was little I knew about my driver at this point. I was putting my trust in this man, via Eleana’s message.

When we reached Horobiyivka, we passed it and kept going. As Rustem slowed, I saw a gravel road to our right; he pulled onto it, and we headed east. Rustem pointed through the windshield ahead and said Eleana’s 6yAnHky (home).

Okay, I said and nodded.

We drove by a large grove of trees and went in between it and a large field. We began to circle the grove, and I soon saw a trail of smoke to my left, then the farmhouse came into view. We pulled up to the front. It was two-story and surrounded by a worn wooden fence in need of paint that held overgrown vines in the barren state of fall.

Rustem was out of the vehicle quickly and recovered my bag from the trunk as I got out and stretched my legs and back. I kept my eyes on the front door, looking for my friend to emerge. Eleana came out a side door and walked down a cobblestone path heading to the gate.

I saw a tired woman I barely recognized. Her hair was unkempt, and she was wearing a long dress that I could only describe as from a farm woman’s wardrobe; it was wrapped in a flowered apron. She had both hands in the apron pockets as she came to the gate and waited for me to approach.

As I got closer, there was a sadness on her face that I recognized. I had seen it before, the day she was with me when I found out that my best friend Peter Graydon and the woman who was capturing my heart, Sarah Mercer, were killed in a horrific plane crash over the Pacific.

She spoke first. Jason, you don’t know how glad I am to see you, my dear friend. Thank you for coming.

I pushed my way through the gate and wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight. Her firm muscular body seemed to become limp in my grip. I just held on to her for what seemed like minutes. I released my arms and looked more closely at her face. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. Are you okay? Is your mother okay?

"Things are not good. My niece is missing since yesterday afternoon. My mother’s illness has become worse. Jason, for the first time in my life, I am at a loss. So much I want to do for everyone, yet I don’t even know where to start or how