The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (36 page)

“Yes. I am here to free you, Ristani.” Akira smiled. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Akira pointed a finger above his head. “
Listen
. The steady drip. Drip...drip...”

“That’s the water leak from the ceiling.”

“No. That’s the sound of dead souls, slowly dripping out from the husks of crushed dreams. Drip...drip...
drip
.” Zamir stared. “Ristani... Do you know what your purpose was?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. He rubbed a hand down his coarse beard. “My purpose?”

“Why did we come to you? Why did we enlist your services and fund your war?”

Zamir paused for a moment. “To bring about a free Kosovo. This is what I was trying to do.”

“No. Your purpose was to reignite a war. Regardless of your failure, the war
will
start. It
has
started.”

“But—I don’t understand. The conflict in Kosovo is over. We lost.”

“You lost. Not we—
you
.” Akira let out a snide laugh. “The scope is a tad larger than Kosovo now...” Akira pointed his hand at Ristani.

Zamir was breathing heavy. His eyes darted frantically. “Akira...no. Wait—no! Please!”

Akira’s eyes glowed as he smiled a devil’s grin. “Here is your
freedom...
”

“What was that?!” Guards rushed through the wing where Ristani was held, after hearing a massive explosion. They reached his cell to find a grisly sight. The bars on Zamir’s cell door were melted away. The cold winter air was blowing in through the back wall of the cell—the concrete was almost completely torn open. And there, on the floor of the cell, was Zamir’s charred body.
It was still smouldering
. The man known as Akira Luong was nowhere to be seen.

***

The Legion gang had decided to peruse the shopping mall, one cold Saturday in December. Laura was keen on getting her Christmas shopping done early and finding something nice for her fiance in particular. Bruce, Varick, Santos, and Alex had decided to tag along and make a day of it. It was only five in the afternoon, but it was already dark outside.

“Getting that beard back I see, Bruce. It’s coming in nicely,” Santos commented.

Bruce chuckled. “It’s not like I’m going to be deployed for a military operation anytime soon, so now’s as good a time as any to bring it back.”

Santos put an arm around Bruce and Varick. “Well, it looks like the beard brothers are back in action!”

“Good g
od
, man...” Varick sighed, bringing his thumb and two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You
seriously
need to stop saying that every time Bruce cuts loose.”

Laura stifled a laugh. “The beard brothers, huh? Does John’s tuft of fur on his chinny-chin-chin actually qualify?”

“It’s called a goatee,” Varick said, swiping Laura’s hand away as she prodded his chin.

They walked through the mall, stopping next to store windows whenever someone’s eye was caught by an enticing trinket. A hefty man pushed past them, carrying two cases of bottled water stacked on top of each other. Bruce looked over his shoulder, smirking. “And there goes another one. You know what they’re doing, don’t you, Alex?”

“Stockpiling for the end of the world, which you’re directly responsible for?”

“Not funny, Alex,” Varick sniped.

“It’s a little funny,” said Bruce. “I mean, how they managed to pin this Y2K scare on us—it’s mind-boggling. And I’m telling you, that little pipsqueak Stiltson—
they believe him
. A lot of these people, they’ll believe anything they read or hear.”

“Well, better safe than sorry, I suppose,” Santos said. “Regardless of
why
it may happen, if it happens the way experts think it might, at least you’re prepared with the essentials.”
 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And what,
pray tell,
is going to happen, come that fateful midnight?”

“Blackouts, stock market crash, financial ruin...” Santos shrugged. “Who knows.”

“Most likely nothing, if you ask me,” Laura said.

“Governments are investing billions of dollars in preventative measures...” Varick scoffed. “It better be nothing.”

They passed by a small electronics shop. There were a few television sets in the window, and all of them had the same news story running:

“It truly is the season of giving. Recently deceased Uecker Clemens has made several posthumous donations to charities around the world, amounting in the millions. These donations include those charities supporting child welfare, crisis relief efforts, and healthcare. It’s believed that the donation arrangements were made by beneficiaries of the will who have chosen to remain anonymous. Given the circumstances surrounding Uecker Clemens’ death and his ties to the controversial group known as the Omega Ops Legion, some have speculated his beneficiaries
are
in fact Legion members. Whatever the case, one cannot deny such generous actions. For what it’s worth, Mr. Clemens, this reporter thanks you.”

***

Friday, December 24th, 1999

With each day that passed, the snow continued to pile up and prepared New York City for a very white Christmas. It was ironic that this time of December was considered the ‘holiday season’, yet so many people’s stress levels were pushed to their limits because of the fast-paced demand that came with it.
It hardly seemed like a holiday at all
. Christmas shopping, event planning, relatives visiting, and travel plans: events that should bring about good cheer, simultaneously join together to wreak havoc on a person’s psyche. The cold and snowy winter weather was the white icing atop all of the holiday worry. One person that wasn’t feeling the pressure was Bruce Kasparov. He had come to terms with no longer being part of the U.S. military. He wasn’t going to try and file for an appeal. As far as he was concerned, it simply was a growing process, and that chapter of his life had now come to a close. He looked in the mirror while he carefully knotted a navy-blue tie around his neck. Ever since childhood, it felt like a calling for him to be involved in military service, and he was allowed to carry out that calling for twenty years. In some ways, things wouldn’t change all that much. He was still a man of honor that was bound by duty. Except now, he was focused on only one thing:
The Legion
.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. “Yeah?”

Santos opened it; he was also in full suit and tie. Bruce wasn’t much of a church goer, but it was a tradition that Santos had them keep up: T
hey would all attend Christmas mass together
. More specifically, the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and Santos was insistent that they all dress to the nines. “Ready, Bruce? Varick and Alex are both downstairs.”

“Yeah, just about.” He turned around. “How’s the tie?”

Santos gave him a thumbs-up. “Looks sharp.”

***

Friday, December 31st, 1999

Chital Co. Tower, Manhattan

Scorcher sat by himself in his office. His chair was spun around to face the window, and he had a wine glass in his hand. The bowl of the glass rested on his open palm. He swirled the wine in a slow circular fashion while he gazed off into space. He took a sip from the glass and winced.
Wine wasn’t his thing.
H
e had hoped to be a classy villain that could enjoy a glass of wine thusly. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. He threw the half-drunk wine glass over his shoulder, where it smashed on the floor, despite being carpeted. He swung his chair back around and meditated on the poor decision he had just made. He pressed a button on his intercom: “Hello, Patty...send someone up to my office to clean up a wine spill.”
Click.
Scorcher sighed. “It was all fun and games...” he said aloud to himself. “But now...much like that wine glass—
it’s out of my hands
.” Scorcher placed both his hands on his desk and looked
down at them. He had been instructed to stay out of sight until it was over. “It’s not going to be so fun for you anymore. For you and for me, I suppose.” Scorcher sighed again. “I’m going to miss you, Kasparov.”
 

***

Bruce wasn’t one to shy away from parties. This year, there were big celebrations being hosted by Legion members in California and they were open to all Legion members and associates. Bruce was initially planning to attend, but after recent events, he had opted for something small, quiet, and simple. Even Christmas Day had been far less grand, with the celebrations kept inside the walls of the manor. New Year’s was set to continue in the same vein. It was just Peter, Varick, Alex, and himself. Peter and Varick had the option to join the festivities in California, but since Bruce was staying, they decided to do the same.

 Despite being the biggest New Year’s celebration that would happen in Bruce’s lifetime, there was something immensely humbling about ringing in the occasion on a much more personal level, with his two closest friends and his son.
The people most important in his life
.

The doorbell rang. “Anyone expecting anyone?” Bruce called. He opened the front door and broke into a grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. Frank, I didn’t know you were coming here!”

“Hey, neither did I. Believe it or not, Stan here talked me into it.” From behind Frank Cormac’s wide frame, his younger brother Stanley popped into view, carrying a brown grocery bag with both hands. “What’s going on, what’s going on, Bruce?!” He was smiling ear to ear. Stanley was in his late twenties, skinny, and had blonde hair like Frank.

Bruce laughed in astonishment. “Wow, this is—I am
very
surprised to see you here, Stanley.”
 

“Hey now, don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me, bud?!”

“No, of course not! Come in, guys, come in! Don’t stand out there in the cold.” Bruce ushered the Cormac brothers inside and shut the door. “But you of all people, Stan; I thought you’d be in the thick of it all. It’s the freakin’ millennium party!”

“Come on now, Bruce; I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do. Sure, it’s on a much grander scale tonight, but it’s the same old crap. I got a little bit more depth to me than binge drinking and partying.”

“Yeah? What’s in the bag, Stan?” Bruce grinned. “You planning on cooking us all dinner?”

“No-no-no. If you got some turkey or chicken—pot roast in the oven, what have you—I’m here to eat it!”
He reached one hand into the bag and pulled out a large liquor bottle. “But I did, however, bring marinades.”
 

“What’s all the commotion?” Peter made his way to the door with Varick and Alex. Peter smiled. “Oh, what’s this? Guests ready to partake in the New Year celebrations?”

“Indeed it is!” Stanley put the bottle back in his bag, kicked off his shoes, and carried the bag into the kitchen. He set the bag of booze on the counter. “Alright-alright-alriiiight, let’s get this thing started!” But Stanley’s enthusiasm suddenly faltered. He scratched his head, confused. “Jeezes, it is deathly quiet in this giant mansion of yours, Bruce.
Music.
Le
t’s get some tunes going, guys. Toss on some Stones to start things off.”

Alex walked up behind his father. “Dad, who is this?”

“That, Alex, is a happy guy.”

Bruce introduced Alex and Stanley to each other. Stanley shook Alex’s hand firmly. “How ya doing, bud? I’m surprised I haven’t met you yet.”

“Yeah, I’m doing pretty good, Stanley.”

“Santos, what’s new, boss man?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing too out of the ordinary.”

Stanley smirked. “Ah! But I’m just a regular Joe, you see? Legionnaire extraordinaire Mr. Santos probably has a very different idea about what constitutes ‘ordinary’.” Stanley pointed at Bruce. “And you too, buddy, you too! I want some good stories tonight.”

“Hey, I was actually interested in hearing some of
your
stories, Stan—the debauchery that is your life.”

Stanley grinned. “We’ll see what happens.” He turned his attention to Varick. “Ah, and Varick, how are ya, old man?!”

Varick pointed at him warningly. “Hey, hey! I’m younger than both Bruce and Santos.”

Stanley tapped Varick on the forehead with his index finger. “Not up here you ain’t, buddy.”

Varick sneered. “Always a pleasure, Stanley.”

“Yes—it—IS!” He slapped Varick on the back repeatedly. “No, but I jest. I jest because I love. Varick, I love you more than anyone else here, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah...I know...you’ve told me on one too many occasions.” Varick squinted at Stanley. “So, how sauced are you right now?”

“Love you more than Frankie!” Stanley said, ignoring Varick’s question. He waved a hand at Frank. “No offense, bro.”

Frank shrugged. “None taken. Over the years, I’ve learned to sorta just tune you out.”

“My brother’s a stand up guy,” Stanley informed Varick, putting him in a headlock.

“Alright, alright, get off!” Varick interjected, pushing Stanley’s arm away. “You’re too hyper for me.”

“Enough talk, boys, my mouth’s getting dry.
Let’s get it started.”
One by one, Stanley started pulling out liquor bottles and setting them on the table. “You have beer, right, Bruce?”

“Err, yeah, there’s a few in the fridge.”

“
Good
. That’s why I didn’t bring beer. I
knew
you had beer.” Stanley raised two bottles off the table: “Alright, pour em out!”

***

The group had settled in the living room. Music was playing and everyone was having a good time. And of course, the television was tuned to the millennium bash happening at Times Square. Varick and Bruce joined Stanley and Frank in a few drinks, but the Cormac brothers were the only ones drinking heavy.

“What’ve you got there, Santos?”

Santos looked in his glass. “This? Just a soft drink.”

“Oh, come on, man!” Stanley ran to the fridge, retrieved a beer, and ran back to the living room at an astonishing speed. Stanley handed Santos the bottle. “Here ya go.”