The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (4 page)

Solly watched Bruce and Varick drive off. “Let’s go, Wells.” Solly handed Henry a business card. “If you need any assistance with this matter, you can call my office.” Solly and Wells walked off. Oswalt brushed by the two as he returned to the crime scene with a coffee. Oswalt stood beside Henry, staring off into the distance.

“I don’t like them.”

“Solly and Wells?”

Oswalt took a sip from his coffee. “No. Varick...and the
Captain.
”

Henry was taken aback. “Why? They’re helping us.”

“Helping
us
?
No, they’re helping themselves—helping the Legion. They’re arrogant, pompous glory-seekers, the whole lot of ‘em.”

“Well, maybe if you were as efficient as them, you’d get some of the glory too,” Henry joked. Oswalt didn’t find it funny, however.

“Occifer? Occifer?!”

Henry cringed, then slowly looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

The hobo showed Henry a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “The man gave me this.”

Henry’s eyes widened as he read what was on the paper. “This is an address…not too far from here. Where did you get this?”

“The man had it.”

“Involved with the shooting?” Henry asked.

“That’s the man.”

Oswalt dropped his coffee cup and looked angrily at the hobo. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?! You withheld information!” he spat.

“Nawww, Occifer. The man walked away and I bumped into him. Tried for his wallet, but only got this paper—before he push me down.”

Henry stared at Q in disbelief. “Wait, so you tried to pickpocket him, even after you saw him kill these people?”

“They stole my bottle, so I needed money for a new one.”

Oswalt laughed. “How can a belligerent drunk like you have the competency to pick pockets?”

“Like with any fine craft, Occifer—” the hobo grinned, showing Oswalt the beat-up leather wallet he had just lifted from Oswalt’s pants. “Practice makes perfect.”

Oswalt’s face went red. He grabbed his wallet back from the hobo and cocked his arm back, ready to slug the man, but Henry intervened. Henry hastily pulled out his own wallet and handed a few bills to the hobo. “Here, lay off the pickpocketing for a while.”

Oswalt’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? We should arrest this filthy scumbag, not pay him off!”

“He helped us out, Oswalt, but never mind that—we need to get to this location
right now
.”

“This is ridiculous. He’s just going to spend it on booze or drugs.” Oswalt looked at the hobo, who gave him a big smile, missing teeth and all.

“Come on!” Henry barked at Oswalt, while running to his squad car.

***

Henry and Oswalt arrived at their destination in a matter of minutes: a luxury condo. The two cops rushed into the building and ran up three flights of stairs. Henry exited the stairwell and made a left in the corridor, with Oswalt right behind him. “Henry, that bum wasn’t exactly a credible lead. His story of what he heard and saw didn’t gel well.”

“Of course not,” Henry huffed, still maintaining running pace. “He was drunk and possibly unbalanced. But the fact remains that he very likely pulled this address off one of the men that did the shooting.”

The two cops stopped in front of a door. “414,” Henry muttered. Oswalt and Henry drew their guns. Henry signalled Oswalt to wait as he put his ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything…” Henry whispered. Oswalt rapped on the door sharply. The two officers waited, but the door remained closed. Henry banged on the door with his fist. “NYPD, open up!” Henry was getting a sickening feeling in his stomach. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. Henry looked at Oswalt. “We need to get in there right now. On three.” Henry held up his hand to Oswalt, counting off on his fingers in silence. Oswalt watched in anticipation as, one by one, Schucker’s fingers closed to form a fist. Henry gave the order, and together, the two cops kicked open the door, with guns at the ready. Oswalt followed Henry inside and closed the door behind him.

They scanned the posh condo: there was clutter here and there, but nothing so out of the ordinary to indicate any kind of struggle. They reached the bedroom and opened the door. They saw a balding man lying under the covers of the bed, tucked in up to his chin. Henry lowered his weapon fearfully. He walked up to the side of the bed and placed two fingers on the man’s thick neck.

Oswalt watched anxiously. “...Is he?”

Henry shook his head. “He’s sleeping.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Oswalt holstered his gun while muttering to himself in disbelief. He walked up to the man and backhanded him hard across the face: “Wake up, ya fat oaf!”

The man jarred awake in a fit. “Huh…wha?! What’s going on?!”

“You didn’t hear us knocking?” Oswalt demanded.

“What’s the meaning of this—who the devil are you two?!”

“Shut your mouth! We’re asking the questions here!”

“Enough, Oswalt,” Henry said, raising a hand. “Sir, I’m Detective Henry Schucker, and this is Detective Fletcher. We’re police officers.” Henry showed the distraught man his badge. “We have reason to believe that you’ve been targeted for murder by unknown parties.”

“What?!” The man was visibly shocked.

“Sir, are you employed by Jack Solly?”

“Y-Yeah,” the man stuttered. “Chief Financial Officer.”

Henry nodded. “Let’s go into the hall. What’s your name, sir?”

***

The pair conducted a quick interrogation of CFO Jeffrey Perkins. They were still uncertain as to how much he knew and how much he was covering up. “Well, officers, I thank you for your assistance and concern, but I
do
need to get ready for work. So, if you don’t mind…”

Oswalt smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“There’s a potential threat against your life,” Henry elaborated. “I think you need to stay indoors—at least for today, until we get some details sorted out.” Henry moved to the door. “Oswalt, we need to do a sweep of the corridors, get a protection detail to this location—” Henry immediately stilled his voice and pressed up against the wall when he saw the door handle rattling. He urgently signalled Perkins to hide and keep quiet. Oswalt drew his gun and crouched down behind the sofa. The handle slowly turned and the door creaked open. A grizzly-looking man cautiously stepped into the condo brandishing an Uzi. This man was known as Rufus, one of Scorcher’s button men. Henry watched in horror as Oswalt positioned himself to pounce. He desperately signalled Oswalt to stay down, but it was too late… Oswalt drew.

“
NYPD, freeze
!”

As the Uzi ripped through hallway, Henry slammed the door against Rufus’s hand, throwing off his aim. Oswalt collapsed back down behind the sofa, avoiding the bullet spray by a hair. He patted the top of his head in relief;
Christ, that could’ve been real bad.
 

Henry grabbed Rufus’s wrist with both hands and directed his arm into the wall. Rufus’s two partners were in the hallway trying to get a clear shot at Henry, but were screened by Rufus’s massive frame. Oswalt steadied his arms on top of the couch while he aimed his piece. He fired a measured shot past Rufus and Henry, and hit gunman number one in the leg. Meanwhile, Henry was trying to force the firearm out of Rufus’s hand.
No luck, whatsoever
. Rufus snarled at Henry through his thick brown beard and, slowly but surely, forced the barrel of the Uzi towards Henry’s cranium. Henry desperately resisted with everything he had, but Rufus’s brute strength was too much. The gun was almost in line to kill.

Oswalt’s hands were clammy a
round his weapon. He tried to focus. He blinked several times as he trained
his gun on Henry and Rufus.
He couldn’t get a clear shot.
For a second, he felt his mind and body slip into an icy pool of fear. Was he about to witness his partner’s death...while he stood cowering?
...No
. He violently shook his head and it all became clear.
This was unacceptable
. Without hesitating a second longer, he leapt over the couch and charged. Oswalt smashed the side of his pistol across Rufus’s face, causing him to roar out like a wounded animal
. He was now cut and bleeding from his temple. Rufus tossed Henry and his Uzi aside, and tackled Oswalt to the ground. As gunman number two charged through the doorway, Henry swung his leg, smashing their shins against each other and tripping the attacker to the ground. Henry managed to wrestle the weapon from the gunman’s hand and deliver several solid punches to his stomach, effectively winding him. Henry had won his battle, but Oswalt wasn’t so fortunate.

Oswalt bared his teeth defiantly, face to face with the Sasquatch of a man, who was wringing his neck like a chicken. He smashed at Rufus’s sides with his fists, but Rufus was unrelenting. With one of his elbows, Rufus managed to pin down Oswalt’s right arm at the crook. He applied severe force to the arm until he heard the crack. Oswalt tried to scream out in pain, but with Rufus’s hands still clamped around his neck, only a faint wheeze escaped his throat. His eyes bulged as he gasped for air. Witnessing Oswalt’s desperate struggle, Henry got to his feet and ran to aid his partner.

As if going for a field goal, Henry aimed his kick and punted Rufus under the chin with all his might. Blood spurted from his mouth as a tooth jarred loose. He released Oswalt and got to his feet, clutching his face. Rufus stared down Henry like a raging bull. Henry was strong and, at six foot two, quite big. But Rufus still had an inch or two on him and was almost twice as thick. Rufus swung wildly at Henry, who stepped back to avoid the strike, then returned a punch onto the side of Rufus’s head. Henry immediately followed up with an elbow to Rufus’s jaw, causing the man to stagger back. Rufus picked up an ornate porcelain lamp off the coffee table and hurled it at Henry.
Shit!
Henry ducked and covered his head,
narrowly avoiding being struck. But the object was thrown with such force, that upon shattering against the wall, jagged pieces of porcelain were sent flying like deadly shrapnel from a grenade. A large piece of the vase found its way across Henry’s right forearm and drew a deep cut.

Henry took several steps back while holding his arm. Unfortunately for Henry, his back was now against the wall. Rufus charged and put a fist right through the drywall where Henry’s head was moments ago—he had dropped to the floor to evade. Henry punched Rufus from his position, striking at his lower abdomen, but there was little effect. In gorilla-like fashion, Rufus began to rain down hammer-fist blows upon Henry, who covered his head with both arms. He had no room to do anything...except...

A devastating groin shot made Rufus clench his teeth and caused his eyes to bulge. Henry pushed Rufus back with all of his strength, attempting to create space between them so that he could at least stand. Bouncing back up, Henry Schucker went on the attack. Rufus was quick to recover from the low blow and began to trade punches with the detective.
It was a slugfest
. But Henry
was finding it difficult to hold his own; he could not get any leverage behind his punches. He was sandwiched in-between Rufus and the wall. Henry switched to elbows, aiming to strike crucial points. As hard as Henry fought, Rufus refused to retreat. He threw a vicious punch into Henry’s stomach and then another that connected with his head—
he began to see stars. He couldn’t think straight
. But he could still sense the very real threat of Rufus right in front of him.
All that was keeping Henry standing was adrenaline, and what was driving him was pure instinct.

As Rufus pulled back his fist for the knockout punch, Henry unexpectedly jerked forward and headbutted Rufus across the bridge of his nose. Rufus stepped back, clearly taken by surprise. He pinched his nose to stem the blood. “Bastard...” Rufus sneered through the blood dripping down his mouth. “Still have some fight left in you, I see. It’s time to put you down for good.” With his free hand, Rufus prepared to strike Henry again—but without warning, the sound of a gunshot echoed in the condo. Oswalt was back on his feet. One arm was dangling limply at his side, and the other was aiming a smoking barrel.

Rufus turned to face Oswalt, his eyes bulging with rage. He touched the bullet entry wound below his left shoulder blade. “You’d shoot a man in the back, you
worm
?!
”

Oswalt gasped, still regaining his breath. “Shut—your mouth...you steroid-infused gorilla!”

Bleeding from the gunshot wound, Rufus lurched towards Oswalt. He fired another shot which pegged Rufus near his collar bone. Rufus grunted through labored breaths. He continued to slowly move towards Oswalt. “I’ll—
kill—you
.”

“Few more steps, I dare you.” Oswalt kept his trigger finger steady as Rufus moved in closer. Rufus was now inches from the barrel of Oswalt’s gun. The moment Rufus grabbed Oswalt by the collar, the trigger was pulled. Oswalt sent it right between his eyes and Rufus fell to the ground dead. Oswalt gripped his gun tightly and slowly exhaled. It was the first time he had taken a life.

He looked out the doorway: Rufus’s two accomplices were nowhere to be seen.
They had fled
. Oswalt thought for certain that the man he shot in the leg was down for the count—his other buddy must have helped him escape.

Henry stayed leaning against the wall; he felt like his insides had been tossed around with salad tongs. He glanced down at Rufus on the floor, then to Oswalt in stunned silence. Oswalt collapsed into the leather sofa and smiled grimly at Henry. He waggled the gun in his hand. “Efficient...”

The sound of silence was Jeffrey Perkins’ signal to emerge from hiding and into the chaos that had defiled his living room. His eyes bulged. “Holy…Sh—”

***

Thursday, October 7th, 1999

Queens, New York, 4:00 p.m.

Roy Cameron chased down his perp, with a gleam of vindictive determination in his eyes. He was breathing heavy from running, but far from giving up. “I said freeze, asshole!”