Kill on Command (48 page)

“What you did is trample on what this country stands for.  You are no better than the people you killed,” Sean snapped back.

“You mean the people you killed,” Waters said, smirking.

Sergei delivered a hard, open-hand slap to the side of Waters’ head.  The pop echoed off the walls of the room.

“That’s enough!  Why was he there and why was he with the Arabs?”

Waters really didn’t want to answer the question. 

“Did you not understand my question?”

“Happy hour?” Waters gritted his teeth, waiting for the response.

Sean was seething.  He could not control himself now.  He moved too fast to be stopped by Pavel or Sergei.   In the blink on an eye, he took two steps towards Waters, inserted the end of the knife into Waters’ nostril and sliced through the nose and part of his face.  Waters screamed again and fought his restraints in a bid to free himself.  Blood ran down his face and neck, staining his shirt.  Waters tried to spit out the blood that was seeping into his mouth.  Sergei pulled Sean away, but not before Sean threw the knife.  It embedded itself between Waters’ legs in the wooden chair. Sean stood near the steps, his face red, anger radiating from him.

“I think you will do better with me.  Please answer the question, or I’ll let Sean take over,” Sergei said.  He left the knife between Waters’ legs.

Waters looked at Sean.

“I sent Garrison to kill a Saudi national, a prince.  The son wants revenge.  I gave Pasco the information on Garrison.  The son put a contract out on him.”

“It looks like this Pasco betrayed you in the process.  What else?”

Waters clammed up.  The only sound in the room was the “hum” produced by the cheap florescent lights.

“What else?”

Waters did not answer.

“Do you want Sean to start asking the questions?”

Waters remained silent.

Sergei pulled the knife from the chair and finished what Sean had started by slitting the other nostril.  Waters screamed and gave up the last piece.

“Your daughter!  Your daughter! They are also coming for her!”

Sergei glared at Pavel and Sean.  His face was red.

“Go upstairs,” Sergei said in a low, menacing voice.   Pavel took Sean’s arm and pulled him up the stairs.  Waters heard the door close and looked at Sergei.

“I know you know who I am.”

Waters nodded and tried to swallow.

“Do you know who sent me?”

Waters nodded again.  He had a good guess.  Sergei took the knife and sliced through the zip ties on Waters’ feet and arms.  He was free.  Sergei walked behind him and placed the knife on the bench and reached into the black bag, pulling out a pair of black leather gloves.  He came back around to face Waters, who was trying to get to his feet.  Sergei stood in front of him and slowly put on the gloves.

“In Spetsnaz there is a group called the Maroon Berets.  They are the top 1/10
th
of one percent of everyone in the Red Army.  I was one.  To be one, we basically had to kick the shit out of everyone, but that was not enough.  They made us endure hardships that you cannot begin to imagine.  If you survived, you were the best.  The toughest.  The most ruthless.  An apex predator.”

His eyes never left Waters as he made sure the gloves were tight.  He squeezed the gloves, making a fist.  His forearms were knotted with thick muscles.  Not the type you get from the gym.  The type you get from quick roping into a hostile country and strangling someone to death with your bare hands.

“You know what I did to relax?” 

Waters still didn’t speak.

“Of course, I love SAMBO, but I was a boxer.  Gloves.  Bare knuckle.  It didn’t matter.  I fought.  I fought everyone.  In Spetsnaz, everyone wanted to be the one that beat a Maroon Beret.  I got plenty of practice.  They lined up to take a shot.  A couple guys gave me a good fight.  One broke my nose.  I broke his arms.”

He paused.

“You might be surprised, but I have a perfect record.” 

Waters knew he was about to die.

“I am going to give you a chance to ruin that perfect record.”  Sergei offered, then began to rain down blows that killed Robert Waters in eighteen seconds.

XIV

Unexp
ected Visitors

Dale City, VA
- Late Monday Night

Sean walked into the kitchen and stuck his head into the refrigerator.  There was nothing in there but a case of bottled water.  He took one and knocked it back.   His mouth was bone dry from the exchange downstairs.  The kitchen appliances were classic Harvest Gold.  Stainless steel was probably not the rage when this house was built.  The counters were laminate.  It was basically a galley kitchen with a small nook for a breakfast table.  Pavel was searching a bag on the table.  Finding what he wanted, he looked up at Sean.

“Come here.  Let me stitch you up,” he said.  Sean sat down and Pavel began closing the wound on his shoulder.  They could hear the sound of a fist hitting meat reverberating through the house. 

“Whose house?”  Sean asked.

“No idea.  Glad to have it,” Pavel answered.  This reply caused further consternation for Sean.   Exactly where were these two getting the resources?  He didn’t have long to think as Sergei walked up from the basement into the kitchen.  He didn’t speak, went to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water, took a drink and looked at his shirt.  It was splattered with blood.

“Damn it.”  He pulled off the shirt, tossed it in a bag on the counter and pulled out a fresh, red, golf shirt.  He did not have an ounce of fat on him.  No tattoos.  No scars.  For all of the action he had seen, he had come out without a scratch, at least, physically. 

“You play a lot of golf?”  Sean asked, pointing to the shirt.

“Shut your smart-ass mouth!” Sergei responded, pulling the shirt over his head.

Sean stood up.

“I’m not in the fucking Red Army!  You don’t get to tell me to shut up!”

Sergei took two steps towards Sean before Pavel jumped between them.

“Stop!  Stop!” he shouted, as he pushed Sergei back forcefully.

“Listen, we need to get that body and get out of here!”  Pavel shouted at Sergei.  Sergei continued to glare at Sean.

Just then the power went out.  The house went dark.  All three of them hit the floor.  Pavel and Sergei pulled their bags off the counter.  Sergei handed Sean an H&K P2000.  Pavel and Sergei each pulled out suppressed H&K MX8s.  

“Sean, they are going to be in here any second.  They will use flash bang grenades.  Close your eyes tight when you hear the glass breaking.  Hold your nose and blow out to release the pressure from the blast.  They will be in right after the flash bang goes off.  They are here to kill, not capture.  Kill them first.  You take the back room.  Pavel and I will take the front and the kitchen door.”

Sean ducked down, sprinted to the back bedroom and took up a position just outside the door.  He had not been crouched against the doorframe for more than a couple of seconds when he heard the sound of windows breaking.  Sergei was right on.  The flash bangs followed.  Sean tried to do what he had been told, but he really was not prepared.  The grenade went off in the back bedroom.  The flash of light did not affect him, but the shock wave caused him to topple over and drop his gun.  The crash was followed by the sound of a large South African mercenary flying through the window and into the room.  He took three quick shots at Sean but missed.  Sean rolled against the hallway wall.  He could not find his gun.  Sean surprised himself.  There was not an ounce of panic in his body.  Instead, he found the fuel to kill his attacker.

The mercenary came around the corner.  The South African did everything by the book just liked he had done thousands of times before in training, but he was not prepared for Sean’s speed.  With his right hand, Sean knocked the weapon up and with his left hand, sent a brutal blow to the man’s throat crushing his larynx.  He fell to his knees and Sean kicked him over and delivered a kick to the throat that was a deathblow.

In the other room, Sean could hear the sounds of suppressed weapons - the mercenaries and the Russians.  Sean picked up the gun from the dead mercenary and headed towards the front of the house.  He entered the living room and found the mercenaries firing on Sergei and Pavel.  Sean had an angle on them, advanced into the room and killed both mercenaries with a shot to the head.  The men had no time to react to Sean’s lightning quick attack.

“CLEAR!” he yelled in Russian.  Sergei came out of the kitchen, followed by Pavel.  Sean kept the gun in his hand.  He was not sure he could trust them.  In his mind, they could open up on him as well.

“Well done.  You are Spetsnaz material!”  Pavel exclaimed and slapped Sean on the arm.  Sergei did not dignify the remark.  He went back to the kitchen, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and made a call.  The police would not be visiting the house. 

“We need to get Waters’ body and get out of here. First, let’s see what these guys have on them.”  Sergei patted down the men and stripped them of their equipment. 

“Mercenaries,” Pavel said aloud, looking down at their equipment and hood-covered faces.  Sean bent over and pulled the hood off of one of the men he had shot.  A big blonde head hit the floor as the hood was removed.  Sergei shone the light on the man’s face. 

“I would bet South African.” 

Pavel nodded.

Sergei and Pavel finished stripping the men of everything useful.

“Sean, gather up all of this stuff and put it in the duffel.  Pavel and I are going to load Waters’ body into the truck.” He tossed Sean a second flashlight.

Sean just nodded.  He was relived.  He had come down from the blind rage he felt moments ago and as much as he felt Waters got what he deserved and as much as he wanted to exact justice, he did not want to see his battered body.  He could hear the Russians rolling him up in the plastic that covered the basement floor.  Sean thought they would struggle getting the body up the stairs, but they seemed to be alarmingly proficient.  He wondered how many of Sandy’s prom dates left the house that way.  They came back into the house from the garage.  Pavel was a little out of breath.  Sergei looked like he had just had a nap.  He could probably run a marathon with Waters’ body strapped to his back, Sean thought.

“Throw these three into the basement.” Sergei commanded.  Sean didn’t want to argue.

Sean and Pavel grabbed the dead mercenaries and pushed them into the basement.  They slid down the stairs and all three landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.  Sean shone the light on their lifeless, broken bodies.  He kept telling himself that they were here to kill him and that if he had not acted, he might be the one at the bottom of the stairs.  Pavel saw him staring down at the bodies and gently pulled on his arm.

“Let’s go.  We still have work to do.”

All three entered the garage.  It still smelled of grass cut long ago.  Soon the house would smell of death unless the bodies were discovered soon.  The Russians sat up front and Sean sat in back with Waters’ bloody body.  Pavel hit the garage door opener, but it didn’t work.  No power.
“I should go shoot them again for making me get out and open this door myself!”  He jumped out of the van, lifted the door and backed out of the garage.  Closing the door, he got back in and headed out of the neighborhood.   Sergei was examining a phone taken off of one of the mercenaries.

“Where are the cops?”  Sean asked. 

“They are not coming,” Sergei said, still examining the phone.

Sean didn’t respond.  Surely, the houses next door heard the flash bangs? Certainly, they saw the muzzle flash from the gun battle in the house?  Cops not coming?  It made no sense.  Sean also noticed that everything that had just transpired had no effect on him.  His hands were not shaking.  He was not sweating.  He was not out of breath.  Something had changed him, or maybe this is who he really is?

“Waters jumped off a bridge to his death tonight.  Tragic.  He had so much going for him,” Sergei said to Sean.  They drove for thirty minutes and came to a dark bridge over a forgettable river in Virginia.  Sergei and Pavel got out and pulled Waters’ body from the van, carried it to the edge of the bridge and tossed it over, holding on to the plastic.  Waters’ body tumbled out of the plastic and hit the shallow water fifty feet below.  Sean watched them from the back seat.

“They seem to have real issues with coyotes around here.  Shame,” Pavel said, as he got back in the car.

“What are you going to do with the plastic?”  Sean asked.

“Burn it,” Pavel answered.

Sean thought “Oh!  Of course! Why, isn’t that obvious?”    Sean wanted to look out the window and try to forget about everything that had transpired, but felt he couldn’t let his guard down.  He kept his eyes glued on Sergei.