Black Flagged Apex (39 page)

As she entered, he spoke quietly but urgently. "I couldn't tell from our elevator conversation whether you were into anal play or not. Money isn't a problem, in case that's your hang up."

She almost started laughing at the absolute desperation of his comment. This appeared to be all he was worried about. His previous "date" had apparently cleared him for rear entry, and this was his sole point of focus. She couldn't wait to disappoint him. Instead of answering his question, she walked deeper into the suite, placing her handbag on a marble-topped counter. He closed the door and rushed to catch up with her. She felt his hand grip her upper left arm tightly and try to pull her back to face him. He was really concerned about his menu options tonight. She shirked his hand and turned to face him, keeping the matte black, serrated blade concealed along the side of her right wrist.

"I'm not paying you to ignore me," he said.

She just stared at him with a smile, until he stepped forward and reached out to grab her wrist, committing a rookie mistake. She lifted her wrist slightly, just far enough to make it easier for him. Once his hand tightened around her wrist, missing the concealed knife blade by less than a centimeter, she flexed her hand upward and broke his grip. Before he could react, she stepped forward and rapidly slid her hand over his extended arm toward his throat. As he tried to wrap his arm around her, she pivoted on her right foot, which brought her body flush against Young's back. Her left forearm braced his chin backward as she eased the tip of the five-inch blade against his throat.

"This ass isn't for sale," she hissed in his ear.

"Everything is for sale. Whatever your game is, I'm into it…but without the knife at my throat. This is definitely something new, but it makes me a little nervous."

"Move into the bedroom. Now!" she said, manhandling him toward the bedroom door.

"Look. This is a little rougher than I expected. Maybe I should pay you for your time and we'll call it good. Sorry about the misunderstanding," he said. Jessica could detect fear in his voice.

"There hasn't been a misunderstanding, Mr. Young, and no amount of money is going to buy your way out of this one," she stated, moving him through the door into the bedroom.

"I never told you my last name. Who are you?"

"Time to shut the fuck up. If you say another word without my permission, I'll take a big slice out of that pretty face."

"What is going—"

His comment was interrupted by her left forearm, which exerted incredible pressure on his larynx and prevented him from either speaking or breathing. She shifted the knife and gently placed it near the outside corner of his right eye socket.

"I'll give you one more chance. If you say another word, I'll start cutting. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand me," she said, and he nodded quickly.

The quick movement of his head caused the knife to penetrate the skin on his forehead, a consequence that Jessica had foreseen. Young winced, but held steady, not making a single noise when she released the grip on his neck.

"You need to think carefully about everything you do. Every thought. Every movement. From this point forward, every action has a consequence. Take a seat on the edge of the bed, and don't fall off. This knife stays right here until my friends arrive."

She felt his jaw start to move, as he fought the urge to ask about her friends.

"Very good. A quick learner. You just might survive the night, Ben. Personally, I hope you don't, but if you keep following directions, I think you'll see your family again."

Benjamin Young didn't move a millimeter in response to her comment, which made Jessica smile. Fully compliant in less than a minute. Maybe Sanderson wasn't full of shit for once. They might even be able to fly back to the coast tonight if Young behaved. If not, they could still enjoy a late dinner and some nightlife in Buckhead. She could think of worse places to be trapped on a Friday night.

**

Enrique Melendez sat forward in his chair and watched Jessica Petrovich and Benjamin Young approach the door to Suite 1812 on his monitor. The small, flat-screen monitor was mounted to the edge of the desk in the living area of their two-room suite. Jeffrey Munoz stood next to the door, holding the second monitor, ready to intervene in the hallway if the situation deteriorated. Melendez seriously doubted that Jessica would require their assistance with Young. He'd seen her in action at the high-rise apartment in Buenos Aires and taken part in her knife training drills. Even with an injured hand, Young would be absolutely no match for her skills. Their job was to take care of the two True America operatives, who were most likely a minute or two away from breaking into Suite 1812.

They had drilled through the glass peephole and replaced the lens with a fiber optic camera capable of providing a high resolution, wide-angle view of the hallway, vastly improving upon the image afforded by the peephole. The fiber optic cable fed into a small digital recorder on the desk, which split the signal to the two monitors and allowed them to rewind and review the feed.

Just as importantly, it permitted them to closely monitor traffic in the hallway, without standing with their heads pressed to the door for hours on end. Each monitor was attached to fifty feet of video cable, giving them full range of the suite. This had come in handy for Munoz, who had been trapped in Suite 1811 most of the day, making certain that nobody besides Benjamin Young entered Suite 1812. He'd alternated that duty with babysitting the original occupants of Suite 1811, who lay unconscious on the floor of the bedroom, zip-tied and neatly arranged next to each other with pillows under their heads.

Mr. and Mrs. Hines, a young black couple from Birmingham, Alabama, had checked into the hotel around 4 PM, with 8 PM dinner reservations at Restaurant Eugene. Unfortunately, the exclusive Friday night reservation at this chic gastro destination had already expired, and the rest of their weekend getaway would be ruined by a lingering headache, coupled with a hotel-wide police investigation. Mr. and Mrs. Hines had been hit with a powerful, yet relatively harmless neurotoxin, which would leave them disabled for a few hours. A smaller dose of the neurotoxin would be administered every few hours until the mission was completed.

Working together earlier in the afternoon, Munoz and Melendez borrowed the housekeeping master key from one of the carts left unattended in the hallway and made a copy with a handheld scanner. Within thirty seconds, they had swiped the master key, storing the key card's electronic signature in their scanner, and created four copies with blank key cards. The Hines' were in the middle of unpacking, when two well-dressed Latino gentlemen suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway holding small metallic tubes. They wouldn't remember anything beyond that.

"How was Daniel taking her little show?" Munoz asked.

"He appeared to be one hundred and ten percent operational," Melendez answered.

"We'll see. I feel bad for the guy."

"Why's that?"

"He's up against the two of them," Munoz stated.

"Yeah. Tough break for the guy. All right, they're in the room. Man, I wish I could see through that door," Melendez said.

"You and me, both. She's probably bitten off one of his ears by now."

Munoz's phone vibrated, and he took the call.

"Got it. We'll take them down when they reach the door," he said into the phone, then cut the call. "Petrovich just hit the stairs. He'll back us up in the hallway."

Several seconds passed before Melendez saw the elevator doors open. Two men walked out, stopping to check the elevator vestibule before proceeding briskly down the hallway toward Suite 1812.

"They're moving fast," Munoz noted.

Melendez stood up and moved over to the door, grabbing his HK USP Compact from the foot of the bed. The pistol was fitted with a suppressor that appeared longer than the pistol itself. Munoz sat his monitor against the wall, on the small table to the right of the door, and gripped the suppressed Steyr TMP submachine gun attached to the sling over his shoulder. Melendez grabbed the doorknob and watched the two men fill the monitor's screen. The dark-haired man standing to the left held a pistol in his right hand and a key card in his left. Melendez nodded quickly and quietly pulled the door open.

Munoz slipped through and stepped to the right, aiming at the light-haired man. Melendez moved straight forward, centering his pistol on the top of the dark-haired man's back. The dark-haired operative managed to turn his head over his shoulder before Munoz hissed a warning.

"Do not fucking move. You each have a weapon pointed at your back. Nod if you understand," he said, and both of them nodded quickly.

Daniel Petrovich appeared in the hallway, near the elevator vestibule. The light-haired man turned his head an inch, and Melendez could tell that the dark-haired operative had seen him. His pistol hand tensed. He probably recognized Daniel from the bar. This had the potential to go south really fast if Munoz didn't take control of the situation.

"That man is one of ours. You've been under surveillance all afternoon. Listen to me very closely. You will drop your weapons to the floor. Simply release them from your grip. On three. You will not get a second chance to do this. One. Two. Three."

One of the guns clattered to the carpeted floor. The other remained in the dark-haired man's grip. Melendez shifted his aim and fired a bullet through the man's right elbow. The bullet passed through his arm and lodged in the door, spraying the soft, salmon-colored paint with bright red arterial spray from his brachial artery. The suppressed gunshot had the desired effects, dropping the second gun to the carpet and stopping a more lethal chain of events.

Melendez kicked the man against the door, further stunning him, and yanked him back. He locked his arm around the man's neck and placed the end of the suppressor behind his ear.

"The next one goes through your skull," he whispered.

Munoz pulled the light-haired operative to the side and pushed him into the wall, giving Daniel room to pass. He turned to room 1812, withdrew another key card from his pocket, and approached the blood-splattered door, glancing down at the pool of blood at his feet.

"Nice mess. A little trigger happy tonight?" Daniel said, inserting the card while furtively glancing in both directions down the hallway.

"He was a fraction of a second from making it a whole lot worse," Melendez replied.

Inserting the key card, Daniel opened the door and stepped inside the vestibule, ready to draw his pistol.

"Is Mr. Young still breathing?" Daniel asked.

"He's fine, but you need to take him off my hands before I start cutting," Jessica replied from another room.

Upon hearing Jessica's comment, Melendez glanced at Munoz and smiled, but his partner didn't look happy. Glancing at the mess on the door and the blood still pumping onto the carpet, he wasn't surprised. There was no way they could wipe this clean enough to avoid unwanted attention. The hallway carpet contained deep red patterns, which helped; however, the carpet pattern was symmetrical and the bloodstains were irregularly spaced. Only the most intoxicated or oblivious hotel guest would walk by without wondering whether Hannibal Lecter was waiting behind the door for them.

Melendez followed Daniel into the room, forcibly shoving the gunman against the wall next to the bathroom doorway, searching him for a second weapon. Munoz followed at a safe distance behind with the second man. Melendez found a small knife strapped to his ankle, along with a wallet, car keys and a cell phone in his trouser pockets. His jacket held two additional magazines for one of the semiautomatic pistols that Munoz had kicked inside of the room when Daniel opened the door. Melendez threw all of these items onto the nearby table while Munoz kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe.

"Give me a hand here. I need to tie off this arm, or we'll lose him. The bullet hit an artery."

Daniel emerged from the bedroom doorway to help.

"Keep him covered," Munoz said, handing the pistol to Daniel.

Melendez reached into his right pocket and fished out a black plastic zip tie restraint. He placed the zip tie around the wounded man's lower bicep area and connected the plastic coupling. He pulled the tie as tightly as possible, causing the man to scream in agony. The steady stream of blood had slowed, but still poured onto the floor. He braced the man's arm against the wall and yanked on the end of the zip tie again, putting all of his strength into pulling the thick plastic band tighter. The man reached around with his free hand, but Daniel was there to grab it and jam his pistol into the back of his neck. Melendez backed up and examined the blood trickling down the man's hand. The flow had stopped, which would give them some time to extract information, or do whatever Daniel had planned for him.

Daniel grabbed the man's jacket collar and pulled him into the sitting area, throwing him down onto one of the tan couches. He handed Melendez the pistol and pulled his own out of the concealed holster along his waist. Munoz covered the two men while Daniel took a few seconds to screw a short suppressor onto the threaded barrel.

"I hope you brought some cleaning supplies," Daniel said, nodding toward the door.

Munoz tossed the second man onto the same couch and replied, "We have a kit in the other room. We'll do what we can with the mess, and I'll stay in the other suite to keep an eye on the hallway. We have enough neurotoxin to knock out the entire floor if necessary. Shouldn't be an issue."

"Perfect. We'll get things started in here," Daniel said.

Melendez appreciated his partner's calm attitude about the situation. Neither of them said a word as they exited the room, careful not to step in the massive dark red stain in front of Suite 1812. Munoz immediately opened the door to Suite 1811 and disappeared, leaving Melendez to close the door to 1812. When he turned to face the door, he grimaced. What a fucking mess.

"Grab the big towels from the bathroom," he said.

**

Daniel stepped over to the sitting area and pulled one of the plush taupe wing chairs away from the large coffee table in front of the couch, dragging it against the wall behind him. He pushed the other chair to the side and kicked the small round end table out of the way, knocking it against a smaller chair near the conference table. The Buckhead Suite offered three distinctly separate living areas for the discerning business guest: a spacious bedroom with a glass enclosed, marble shower; a sitting area occupied by two terrorists, one of whom was grievously wounded and ruining the furniture; and a conference area, featuring a mahogany table with seating for six. Mr. Young certainly spared no expense while he was in town.