Objekt 825 (Tracie Tanner Thrillers Book 9)

not know, or care.
The end result had been a scientist lying on his side in a modified fetal position. If you ignored the thin river of blood dribbling down the side of the man’s skull, he almost appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
Andrei considered climbing back inside his car to screw his suppressor onto the Makarov’s barrel, but after a moment’s inner debate decided not to bother. Despite its proximity to the freeway, the commuter lot felt remote and lonely, and Andrei hadn’t seen a single vehicle come or go since his arrival. If the sound of his initial shot into Limington’s skull hadn’t brought anyone running to investigate, he couldn’t imagine a second blast would, either.
Besides, once he squeezed the trigger, it would take approximately ten seconds to bend down and check for a pulse, then climb back inside the Town Car and accelerate away. Even if the second shot drew the wrong kind of attention, Andrei would be long gone before anyone realized what was happening.
Decision made, he took up a position over, and slightly to the side, of his latest victim. There wasn’t much room between the two vehicles, so he found himself leaning heavily against his Lincoln. He bent down until the business end of the gun hovered maybe ten centimeters above Limington’s skull, then took one last glance toward the parking lot’s entrance.
And froze.
He’d actually begun squeezing the trigger, but now he eased his finger back as he watched a Virginia State Police patrol car drive slowly into the lot. As part of his preparation for this assignment, Andrei had learned everything he could about law enforcement in the local area, and he knew immediately this vehicle was brand-new. It featured a light-bar configuration on its roof—just being phased in this year by the VSP—as opposed to the single bubble-style emergency light.
The state cop began cruising slowly around the western edge of the lot in a counterclockwise direction, training his hand-held spotlight on the trees and scrub brush on the periphery of the pavement. He was still a good distance away, but would arrive at Andrei’s Lincoln and Limington’s Toyota in far less time than Andrei would have liked.
He cursed softly. He certainly couldn’t ventilate his victim’s skull one more time like he’d planned, not now. The sound of the gunshot would draw the cop’s immediate attention, and while Andrei knew he could take out the officer with no problem, he also knew that doing so would bring much more attention to the area than his KGB handlers would want.
He rose from his crouch and moved quickly into the Town Car. Placed his gun on the seat, anchoring it under his right thigh where it would be accessible almost instantly should its use become necessary. Then he eased his door closed and started his engine.
He pulled out of the parking spot and angled right, to the east side of the lot, in an effort to place as much distance between himself and the police cruiser as possible. Once there, Andrei pulled the knob on the dashboard to illuminate his headlights and drove toward the exit at a sedate fifteen miles per hour, the speed at which he guessed he would be least likely to attract the attention of a patrolling officer.
Once the cop arrived at the scene of the shooting, all hell was going to break loose, but it would take the officer time to render assistance to the (hopefully) dead man and call for backup, and as long as Andrei’s luck held for another thirty seconds, he would be long gone by then.
The Chevy Caprice police vehicle passed off Andrei’s left, moving roughly the same speed south through the lot as he was moving north. After what felt like forever, Andrei arrived at the entrance. He checked both directions for traffic and then pulled into the road, still moving slowly.
The minute he’d made the turn and disappeared from sight of the cop, he punched the accelerator and the Town Car rocketed away from the newly minted crime scene.
Andrei realized he’d been holding his breath and he chuckled nervously. He’d had close calls before—it was impossible to be in Andrei Lukashenko’s line of work for any length of time without the occasional close call—but this was one of the closest ever.
He slowed to a more sensible speed and entered the I-264 on-ramp, thankful the night was almost over. It hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d planned, but close enough. One had to be prepared to improvise on the fly, and after years of experience working in the field, Andrei Lukashenko was more than comfortable doing exactly that.

5
 
June 13, 1988
11:55 p.m.
Commuter Park and Ride lot
Southeast of Norfolk, Virginia
Virginia State Trooper Sean Sweeney took note of the Lincoln Town Car the moment the vehicle started moving, despite the fact it had been parked at least one hundred feet away, tucked into the southernmost section of the parking lot.
This particular commuter area had been a haven for drug dealing and prostitution for years. Its remoteness and accessibility to the interstate made it an excellent location for illicit activity, particularly after dark, and every so often Sean’s commanding officer would instruct troopers to focus intensely on clearing the lot of undesirables. Eventually, the goal would be accomplished—more or less—and then it would become more prudent to utilize patrol officers in other locations.
And the cycle would begin again inside the park and ride.
They were currently in the middle of a purge cycle, so every overnight shift for the past few days, Sean had been cruising the lot a minimum of twice per night, more if the volume of calls on the graveyard shift was low. Every trip was the same, a counter-clockwise slow-speed roll through the lot, where he would shine his high-intensity spotlight into the trees, just in case any of the local criminal