Dual Assassins (2 page)

“Do we know the assassin. What’s his name?”

“You’ll get more details when we discuss it further at headquarters. You will only have five days after arriving in Seoul to accomplish your mission and then Henderson is scheduled to arrive.

“And what do I do with the assassin if and when I find him?’ What about the —“

“There’s absolutely no
if
about this mission. You must find him.” Mac stared hard at Jim. “I understand the sheer weight I’m placing on you, but this is critical--it must be accomplished. Pull out all the stops. You are authorized to do whatever is necessary to eliminate the threat.”

Jim saw Reanna’s moistened eyes. She was motionless and returned his look but didn’t speak. Jim peered down at his hands as if they held some type of answer, then snapped his head up. “Okay, I’m in.”

Mac turned toward Reanna, “Two days after Jim leaves, you’ll come to Washington for details as well. You’ll hook up with Jim two days after that. Since you speak Russian fluently, you’ll be a natural on this mission. You both will support each other.”

Jim eyeballed Mac then said, “But how do I—”

“You’ll get all the necessary details at headquarters,” responded Mac. “So you need to get ready.”

Mac looked at Reanna. “You’ll be traveling as a Russian citizen. You’ve done that before so only bring your Russian passport and Russian inserts. You know the drill. You both have my private number where I can be reached day or night. I’ll see you at headquarters.”

Mac said, “Have a nice day.” He then turned and strutted out of the room.

Reanna looked at Jim. “That man would never win a popularity contest.”

“Yeah, but he’s good at what he does. I’d trust him with my life.”

“But Jim, he’d—“

“Reanna, he
has
saved us both before. He’s tough on the outside but has a good heart. He’ll do anything for you. Come on, let’s go home. We have a lot to do.”

Jim turned the
light on in the living room that evening, crossed the room, bent down and lit the kindling in the fireplace which he had layered with fresh logs early that morning. Since he would be leaving for Washington soon, he promised Reanna a nice quiet romantic evening.

Reanna entered the room wearing her favorite white robe. Her silky shoulder length brown hair shone in the flickering light. Jim smiled as he inhaled her scent. She carried two glasses. “We’ve got some bubbly tonight,” she said, taking a seating on the couch and placing the glasses on the coffee table.

Jim began pulling the drapery cord to close the drapes when the window was hit with a “thwack, thwack, thwack.” Several glass shards flew into the room. Reanna yelled, “Get down, get down,” and Jim immediately dropped to the floor, hands over head.

Without hesitation, Reanna dashed grabbed her Russian made Tokarfua pistol which was kept hidden by the door, and she bolted outside. She sprinted toward the black sedan which was parked across the street next to the dim streetlight. The driver was in clear view through the open driver’s window. His eyes shot open when he saw Reanna running out of the house and saw a muzzle flash from her hand and the unmistakable crack. The engine roared to life and the car lurched forward as the tires squealed. The car accelerated down the street. Reanna raced to the center of the street, faced the speeding car, took careful aim with both hands, then pop, pop, pop. The rear window shattered, pieces of glass flying in all directions, as the car sped away. She watched the car until it disappeared around the corner at the end of the block. She ran back into the house and found Jim kneeling on the floor, holding his head with blood oozing between his fingers.

“Oh God,” Reanna cried out as she ran to Jim and fell to her knees in front of him. She flipped her weapon to the floor. With a few tears, she pulled Jim’s hand away. Anticipating massive damage, she was relieved to find several small pieces of glass from the window embedded in his forehead and a laceration on his cheek.

“I’m okay. Jeez honey, the war’s been over for five years. I’ve had enough shooting there to last me a lifetime. I didn’t expect this, especially not here at the house. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” she said, then quickly stood and crossed the room and flipped off the lights. The glow of the burning kindling in the fireplace provided the only light in the room, casting dancing shadows on the wall. She returned to Jim, picked up her pistol in her right hand and approached the side of the large window. She pulled back the drapes about an inch with her left hand and peered outside.

“I didn’t hear the weapon,” said Reanna. “I only heard the window being hit. He must have had a silencer and took the shot when he saw you by the window.”

When the shooter didn’t return, she returned to the living room with a first aid kit and joined Jim on the couch. She removed the small glass shards from his face, dabbed his cuts with an antiseptic then covered them with a few band aids. They both took turns peeking out the window, looking for the shooter as they talked.

“You sure went into action fast, honey,” said Jim. “I didn’t think you could move like that. When I got hit with the glass I became disoriented. Did you see who it was?”

“Yes, a man in a black sedan, Pontiac I think…maybe a 1948 or 49 model. The man was alone in the car, and as soon as he saw me, he took off with great gusto.”

“The way you went out the door, I can’t say I blame him.” Jim emitted a few chuckles.

“Cut that out,” said Reanna as she poked his shoulder with a finger.

Jim continued, “Did you by chance see the license plate number?”

“No, I don’t think there was any on the car. If there was a plate, it was too dark to read it. It all happened so fast.”

“Did you hit him?”

“I thought I did. I got off three rounds and I think I got at least one hit. I thought I shot him in the head; but of course, if I did he wouldn’t have driven away. Let’s call the police, Jim. We’ll let them handle this.”

Jim wrinkled his brow. “That’s not a good idea. I can’t afford to get tied up with this. It could affect our mission which is way more important than this…not now anyway. Plus you have an unregistered Russian pistol. I say for now we leave it alone. We’ll just keep the drapes closed until we get the window fixed.”

Reanna looked back out the window and said, “Okay, you’re probably right.”

“Hey, you did a pretty good job for a Russian spy,” said Jim, smiling. “You could—”

“Stop that nonsense,” responded Reanna. “I told you not to mention that again. You know I was only an informant for them for a short while before linking back up with the Americans. And remember, I’m a natural born American citizen of which I am very proud. Nobody around here has even heard of or knows of that. Please, don’t joke…you promised. It’s not funny.”

“Okay sorry.” But he knew she was raised in a Youth Pioneer Camp in Russia, and eventually became a member of the Vladimir Lenin All-Union Pioneer Organization as a Yook. Even though she insisted she was only an informant for Russia when she lived in Hawaii, he knew better.

Jim and Reanna
kept the living room drapes closed as they both returned to work the following morning. Reanna, wearing a surgical mask, was busy readying the operating room for the next procedure when a blond-haired gentleman was rolled in on a gurney to have a bullet removed from his shoulder. The side of his face was also covered with a fresh bandage. Reanna recognized him as the shooter from the previous evening.

“Hi, what’s your name,” she asked while she checked his hospital wristband.

“Anatoli Petrov,” he responded with a slight Russian accent.

“I understand we’re going to remove a bullet from your shoulder, is that right?” Reanna was thankful she was wearing a surgical mask to hide her features.

“Yes.”

“How did that happen?’ she asked while she prepped his shoulder for surgery.

“I don’t know, somebody drove by and just shot me.”

“Oh, that sure is strange. What happened to your face?”

“A bullet went through my cheek. It went in one side and out the other. It only chipped the corner of one tooth. Other than having a hole in each cheek, I’m fine—just lost lots of blood.”

“That’s incredible, especially here in St. Louis. You are one lucky man.”

“Yes, I sure am.”

“Where do you live, here in St. Louis?”

“I do now.”

“You have an accent, where are you from originally?”

“Russia…in the city of Tuchkovo, just west of Moscow.”

“Well, that sure is interesting. Do you like it here?”

“Oh yes, it very good.”

“Well, we’re certainly glad you’re here, welcome to the U.S.”

The anesthetist said, “Come on, enough with the travelogue, it’s time to get to work.” The surgeon entered the room.

“Yes, doctor,” said Reanna as she turned to the patient: “Anatoli, don’t be nervous now, you’re in good hands here.”

The son-of-a-bitch-- at least he’d saved her the trouble of searching for him.

When the surgery was completed, Anatoli was wheeled to recovery while Reanna began her lunch hour. But instead of going to lunch, she went to Anatoli’s room and grabbed the bag of his personal effects. She took it into the restroom and sat down behind the closed door of a stall and examined the bag’s contents. From an almost empty wallet, she eyed an international driver’s license issued by Russia. She glanced at her watch. Anatoli’s property had to be returned before personnel began to filter into his room. She kept rummaging in the bag and found a key for Room 106 at the Sleep Tight Motel. Reanna slipped the motel key into her bra and placed his car keys into her pocket. She returned to the room and placed the bag back in its original location. She felt confident she hadn’t been noticed.

Jim returned home from work and was greeted at the door by Reanna holding two glasses of wine, one of which she handed to him. “Welcome home, sailor,” she said, which was what she called him when they first met and somehow, the name stuck. Although he was a Marine veteran, Jim never complained about being called a sailor. He considered it a term of endearment.

Jim kissed her gently and said, “What’s the occasion?”

She told Jim about her visit with Anatoli Petrov at the hospital and the conversation they had in the OR prior to surgery.

“How lucky is that?” exclaimed Jim. “See what you can find out from him tomorrow.”

“I’ll try, but I had a surgical mask on at the hospital when I talked with him. He’ll recognize me if I’m not wearing a mask.”

“Well…try.”

Jim raised his glass and savored the light wine. He said, “I’m going to the motel and snoop around. I’m sure we’ll find out something about him there. Thanks for getting the key, hon.”

“Be careful at the motel; he may not be working alone.”

“I understand.” He leaned over and kissed Reanna, then rose to his feet and drained the balance of the wine. He set the glass on the table and said, “This should prove to be interesting. I won’t be long.”

Jim drove directly
to the Sleep Tight Motel, a ‘C’ shaped two story structure. All of the exterior doors faced the parking lot. He drove into the lot and parked his car in front of Room 106. Exiting the car he approached the door. He stared at the ‘106’ on the door. His hand was on his .38 caliber revolver which was tucked into his belt. It was kept out of sight by his sport coat. He moved his head closer to the door and listened for any movement. The only sound he heard was the humming traffic from the roadway. He then gradually inserted the key with one hand and unlocked the door while he pulled out his pistol with the other. He grabbed the cool door handle and slowly pushed the door open. He entered an empty room and closed the door softly behind him. He crossed the room, checked the bathroom and found it empty. He slid open the sliding closet door and observed only two shirts and trousers hanging in the closet. A small suitcase was on the floor. It was obvious that Anatoli hadn’t planned to stay long. He pulled out the unlocked suitcase and found only the normal underclothes and toiletries inside. Then he spotted a box of .40 caliber bullets. He checked the nightstand drawers and only found a Bible, scratch paper and pencil. The desk in the corner was empty but he spotted a small notepad with the top page blank but noticed impressions in the paper. He took a pencil from the drawer and gently rubbed it across the paper, revealing a telephone number with an area code of 202 which he recognized as D.C.

Jim called the motel switchboard and gave the woman the number to call.

“Yes sir, Mr. Petrov, one moment please,” she stated as she dialed the number.

Once connected and after two rings, “Good morning, Central Intelligence Agency, may I help you?”

Jim said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I must have dialed the wrong number,” and he hung up.

Looked like Petrov was in contact with the CIA…the same man that tried to kill him last night. He must know about the mission, but how? Could there be a mole in the Agency? How could he accomplish his mission while looking over his shoulder? He was definitely a target…but by whom?

After returning every item to its original place and removing any evidence of his presence in the room, he opened the door to leave and was greeted by several policemen with drawn pistols, “Stop, raise your hands, turn around and face the wall.” Jim felt handcuffs being applied to one wrist as his arm was pulled down behind him then cuffed to his other wrist.

They searched Jim and pulled out his .38.

“What were you stealing in that room?” one policeman asked.

“Nothing,” replied Jim.

“The motel clerk spotted you entering the room and knew you weren’t the one who rented the room. Is that your room?”

“No sir.”

“Then what were you doing in there?”

“Um…I need to make a telephone call, sir.”

“You’ll have your chance when we take you downtown.” The policeman turned to his partner and said, “Put him in the wagon.” Jim was placed in the back of a police cruiser and taken to the station. He was charged with breaking and entering and the possession of an unlicensed weapon.