Codename: Omega (feat. The Apiary Society) (14 page)

Price was losing time.  The chokehold was cutting off his air supply and he knew it would only be moments before it was too late.  He wrenched himself around to face the man behind him, swinging his forehead straight into the smaller one’s nose like he was making the game winning header at the World Cup.  The man reared back but did not loosen his hold around Price, spraying him in the face with blood and spittle. 

The big man grabbed a handful of Price’s hair and snapped his head back, growling, “I’ve got the pruning shears down in the trunk.”

Price stuck his hand inside his coat and grabbed the handle of his gun inside the shoulder holster.  There was no room to pull it.  He wedged his finger inside the trigger guard and squirmed, trying to get his left arm up and out of the way. 

The back of Price’s jacket blew apart as the Beretta fired from inside the holster.  His armpit was scorched and his shirt was on fire, but the grip on his hair went slack and the elevator shook again as the enormous man slumped over and collapsed. 

He slammed his knee into the smaller man’s groin and finally had the leverage to break the hold around his neck.  Price gasped for air as he stepped back, trying to avoid falling on the mountain of flesh under his feet.  He tore off his coat and shirt and threw them to the ground. 

The other man clutched his privates and groaned.  “Stand up,” Price said. 

“Go to hell.”

Price squeezed off two quick rounds into the man’s kneecaps, knocking him to the floor, creaming.  “Do I have your attention?” Price said.

The man sobbed, squeezing both of his knees.  His dark pants were getting wet under his hands.  “Yes,” he sputtered.

“How were you going to dispose of my body?”

“We weren’t going to kill you.  We just wanted to talk!” 

Price cocked the hammer back on the Beretta. 

“Stop, stop!  All right, there’s a grey Ford parked in the basement garage.  It’s right near the elevator exit.  Frankie has the keys.”

“How many men are in the car?”

“No one else,” the man said.  “Christ, this hurts.” 

“I will get you help if you cooperate.  Who sent you to kill me?”

“I don’t know, I swear it.  Me and Frankie got a call from our boss telling us to get over to the Sheraton and take care of you.”

“How did you know who I was?”

“When we picked up the car, there was photographs and stuff.  It’s still in the glove box.  Okay?  That’s all I know.  Now get me some help.”

Price raised the Beretta and fired one shot into the center of the man’s forehead.  “Request granted,” he said.  Price lit a cigarette and took a long drag.  He popped the empty magazine out of the Beretta and replaced it with the one in his pants pocket. 

Price searched their pockets, taking the cash and strewing the contents of their wallets over their bodies.  He took off their watched and jewelry, hoping it was enough to give the police an excuse to write the whole thing up as a robbery. 

God bless flashy gangsters,
he thought.  Combined, they were carrying over one thousand dollars. 
That will help once my access to Her Majesty’s Secret bank accounts is shut off.
 

He flipped the emergency switch for the elevator.  It resumed its descent.

Price flicked his cigarette through the doors as they opened.  The burning embers hit the polished leather shoes of another man as he leaned against a grey Ford, parked immediately in front of the lift.  Both men looked at one another, neither moving. 

He looked down at the bodies at Price’s feet and his eyes widened.  He pawed at his suit coat numbly, trying for the black-handled revolver tucked behind his back.  Price ripped the Beretta from its holster and lunged forward, slamming its butt end across the gangster’s temple before he could draw.  The man slumped down against the car and Price spun in every direction with his weapon, frantic that more men were hiding behind every parked automobile, every concrete support column.  He tried to catch his breath.  He tried not to be sick. 

***

He tapped the man’s cheek and said “Wakey, wakey.”  Price steered the car down the street as he went through the man’s wallet, removing another $200 and his driver’s license.  Alfredo Scantiatti it said.  There was a phone number on a piece of paper tucked inside the wallet’s money flap.

Alfredo’s eyes blinked rapidly as he squirmed awake.  His hands were tied with his belt and one of his own socks was stuffed in his mouth.  He gagged and tried to spit it out, but Price pushed it back into place and said, “Leave that where it is for now.”

Price admired the man’s gun, a .357 Magnum.  It was a distinctly American weapon, lacking all the finesse of a European firearm but packing an elephant gun’s worth of firepower. 

Price opened the car’s glove compartment and found a packet of information that contained surveillance photos of Price arriving at the airport.  Price frowned.  “Who do you work for, Alfredo?”

The man mumbled something through the sock and Price reached into his mouth and pulled it out.  “I said, figure it out yourself.”  

“Who were you supposed to call once I was dead?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”  

Price cracked him across the forehead with the heavy metal barrel of the .357.  “Christ in Heaven!” the man cried.  “Stop hitting me in the face with guns!”

“The number you were supposed to call!  The one I found in your wallet!”

“I was supposed to dial it after you was in the river.”

“Who were you calling?”

“They don’t tell me nothin’, okay?  I’m just a foot soldier.  I ain’t had my button more than a year.” 

Price grunted.  There was no other course of action left to take for Alfredo.  He took a deep breath, letting the cold, calculating course of action form in his mind.  Alfredo was a liability. 

“I swear on the eyes of my mother, if you let me go, I won’t tell nobody.  I’ll call the number.  I’ll tell them you’re dead!” 

“What phone were you supposed to call them from?” Price said.

“The filling station, right after you get off the Delaware Memorial Bridge.  They gave me a code word,” Alfredo added quickly.  “If I don’t say it, they’ll know something went wrong.  You have to keep me alive or else I’m not giving you the code word.”

Price looked at him.  “You have my word, I will not kill you.”

***

Price dialed the number.  It only rang once.  “It’s done,” Price said in his best American accent.

“Good,” the man on the other end said.  “Quick question.  If you were a bird, what bird would you be?”

Price placed the voice immediately.  “I’d be a dodo.”

“Thatta boy,” Chuck Regis said.  The line went dead.    

Price hung up the phone and stood staring at it for a moment.  Alfredo banged on the passenger window’s glass and said, “Hey!  Hey?  Did it work?  I gave you the right word, right?  It worked just like I said, and you is gonna let me out, right?”

Price got into the car and said, “It worked.”

He drove the Ford onto the interstate, following the river along his right side.  He found an exit that took him closer to the water, winding along a cliff with no guard rail.  Price saw a bend in the road ahead and started to accelerate.  “Slow down, okay?  You said you wasn’t gonna kill me, right?” he said, laughing nervously.  “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Price stamped on the gas pedal and shifted into fourth gear, aiming straight for the curve.  “That includes car accidents!” Alfredo screamed, ducking low in the seat and covering his head.

“I promised I wouldn’t kill you,” Price said.  He grabbed the door handle and popped the door open, holding it against the force of the wind as he grabbed his travel bag and pressed it to his chest.  He threw himself out of the car and hit the road so hard that he bounced along the dirt and gravel, rolling continuously until his knees and elbows were bloody. 

Price looked up in time to see the Ford’s front side careen over the cliff, it’s rear end snapping straight into the air.  The back tires whined as they spun and within seconds the car vanished.  He groaned as he got to his feet and inspected his ruined clothes.   Black smoke rose into the air over the side of the cliff as Price walked over to his bag.  He looked back at the cliff where the car had gone down and said, “But the fall might.”

***

Two days later, Dr. Jonas Salk was sitting in his laboratory’s office, reviewing and re-reviewing the arrangements for the first trial of his polio vaccine.  Someone knocked at his door and the doctor looked up, seeing a shiny badge pressed against the frosted glass.  He opened the door and said, “Can I help you?”

Chuck Regis smiled at him and said, “No, but I sure as hell can help you.”

***

Dr. Salk stared at Regis in disbelief.  “That’s preposterous.  Who in the world would want to kill me?”

“A dangerous subversive, sir.  It’s embarrassing to admit, but we had him in custody and he slipped through our fingers.  He’s working with an international organization that is hell-bent on contaminating your polio vaccine.  I flew in direct from Langley to personally make sure this does not happen.  The United States government takes this situation very, very seriously, Doctor Salk.  I just want to assure you that we’ve got agents surrounding the facility, and there’s no way he’ll get you.”

“That’s very comforting.  I appreciate it,” Salk said.  He put his hand against his face, “It’s all just so unbelievable, though.”

“Most people have trouble believing it right up until they’re looking down the barrel of a gun, Doc.  All that matters now is that we keep that vaccine and you safe.  There’s lots of little boys and girls who we don’t want to see crippled, know what I mean?”

Salk nodded, “But of course.  That’s the whole idea.”

“Exactly,” Regis said, picking up an empty test tube from the counter.  He looked around approvingly at the various pieces of equipment, “So where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The vaccine.  I need to put some men on it.”

“I appreciate that, but it is unnecessary.”

Regis’ eyes narrowed.  “Maybe I’m not making myself clear, Doc. 
Where
is the vaccine?”

“I am terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Agent Regis, but I assure you it is perfectly safe.  That is all I am going to say about it.”

The test tube suddenly exploded between Regis’s fingers and he advanced on Salk, saying, “Don’t make me get inventive here.  You don’t want to see what happens then.”

Dr. Salk tried to swallow, but it felt like he could not breathe.  He stood up as straight as he could and said, “I will not give it to you, or anyone else.”

Regis massaged his temples.  “I really didn’t want to have to do this.  I really, really didn’t.  Victor?  You out there?”

“
Ja,
” came the reply as the door opened.  A thin blonde-haired man walked inside the office carrying a black duffel bag.  Salk backed away from the man instantly.  “Look at the nice little Jew you’ve found for me.  Hello, Jew.”

Regis patted the man on the shoulder and said, “Me and Vic Kramer here go way back.  Those bleeding hearts over at Nuremburg didn’t quite have the same high opinion of him.  What the hell do they know?”  He looked at Kramer and said, “This will be like old times for you, pal.  Remember, not the face.  He’s got to go on TV in a few days.”  Regis walked over to the door and said, “You two kids have fun now.  I’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”

The door closed and Kramer smiled at Jonas Salk, tapping his finger on the side of his chin in thought.  His eyebrows raised as if he suddenly had an idea and he said, “Sit down and take off your shoes and socks.”

“No,” Salk said.  “I will not.”

Kramer struck him in the throat with the edge of his fingers, instantly dropping the doctor to his knees, gasping for air.  Kramer kicked him in the stomach, lifting his body off of the floor.  He shook his head and said, “After all these years, you people still do not know how to listen.”  Kramer opened his leather bag and dug around inside, keeping an eye on the floor where Salk writhed in pain.       

He removed a pair of metal pliers from the bag and snapped them together, showing them to Salk.  “These are my favorite,” he said.   

Salk screamed as Kramer grabbed his foot and hoisted it into the air.  He ripped off the doctor’s shoe and sock and said, “Where is the vaccine?”

“Go to hell!” Salk shouted. 

Kramer fit the teeth of the pliers around the big toe of Salk’s right foot.  “One more time, I ask, and then I squeeze.  Where is it?”

“Never!” Salk said.  Suddenly, Kramer clamped down on the bone inside his toe, making him shriek in pain.  He screamed until he voice went hoarse, smacking the floor and begging for mercy.  Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision so that all he could see was the door of his office opening and another man coming in, creeping behind Kramer.

Kramer let go of Salk’s foot and let it drop.  “Next I will show you how I use these to pop the testicles, ja?”  Kramer’s head suddenly snapped back and he felt the white hot intrusion of sharp steel puncturing the flesh of his lower chin.  The blade came up through his jaw, sliced his tongue in half, and drove up through the roof of his mouth. 

Blood spat out of the wound and between his lips as he turned, coming face to face with the man who’d stabbed him.  Kramer’s eyes widened in horror.  “O…mega,” he sputtered in disbelief.