The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (7 page)

“Hey, just because we take the occasional crap in our pants and eat carrot mush, it doesn’t make us babies,” Uecker said indignantly.

“Shut up, old man, I’m not talking to you.”

Uecker stood up. “Nancy boy can’t take a joke! What you need is a good smack upside your head to teach you some respect!”

Bruce was on his feet now too. “Whoa, whoa, everyone settle down, this is all just a big misunderstanding. Besides, I had no idea this was a supper. All I heard from Santos was that it was important—he called and I went.”

Santos scoffed. “Oh sure, throw me under the bus on this, Bruce.”

“Well, at least nothing happened,” Roy pointed out, in an attempt to douse the sparks. “Everyone’s in one piece.”

Varick looked down at the unconscious man and then to Bruce. “How did he know you were here?”

“No clue,” Bruce muttered. “But apparently, Scorcher’s put a hit out on me.”

Roy laughed. “Well, that was dumb of them. They just prematurely revealed their hand. Surely they must’ve known that a couple of second-rate thugs wouldn’t be enough to get the job done.”

Bruce contemplated the situation. “This wasn’t a planned attack...I just happened to be in the neighbourhood and this goof thought it smart to take a crack at it.”

Santos nodded in agreement. “Yeah, well, either way, it seems like Brooklyn isn’t a safe spot for you, Bruce. It’s crawling with Scorcher’s loose cannons, and they’re ready to strike out anytime, anyplace.”

Varick stared darkly at Santos. “So…let me see if I have all the facts, Santos. You decide to call Bruce to this rat-hole of a coffee shop, pulling him away from
actual
work—” Varick glanced at Uecker and Taz, “to socialize with
these two
.” Uecker rolled his eyes, while Taz bore no acknowledgement of the scathing tone. Varick paused. “And then, by coincidence, Bruce gets attacked?”

Santos gave Varick a calculating stare. “So, what are you trying to say?”

Varick immediately regretted saying anything at all. “Just making sure no details were left out.” He hastily changed the direction of the conversation. “Listen, I’m sure Roy can haul out the meat-bag on the floor and handle cleaning up the mess here.”

Roy scratched his head. “Yeah, sure I guess...but my clown car’s gettin’ real full.”

Varick nodded. “Bruce, you got my keys? Let’s take off.” Varick tried to act casual, but his thoughts still troubled him.

Bruce said his goodbyes to his new friends
,
Uecker and Taz, then left with Varick. Varick was fully aware that Santos had followed him out of the coffee shop, but did not acknowledge his presence until he was in front of his car. “You need something, Santos?”

“Well, a ride back to the manor would be nice—since we’re all going that way, after all.”

“How’d you get here?”

“You know, the usual: walked, scaled the buildings, flew low over the rooftops when the opportunities presented themselves...”

What irked Varick about Santos was that he knew he wasn’t joking when he said things like this. Varick sneered. “You can’t do ‘
the usual
’ back home?”
 

Bruce frowned at the two of them. “No
w, what is a captain to do when his two lieutenants don’t get along?”

Santos appeared puzzled. “I have no problem with Varick.”

Bruce smiled. “Well, I’ll tell y
ou what I’
m going to do…I’m going to make it a personal goal of mine. By the end of this year—no wait, by the end of this millennium!” Bruce now appeared positively gleeful. “You two are going to be able to tolerate each other. Maybe even become best buds!” Varick scoffed. Bruce placed one hand on Varick’s shoulder, the other on Santos’. “Either that, or I’ll put you both in traction.”

Varick gave Bruce a thumbs-up and a patronizing smirk. “Good luck with that, boss.”

***

Thursday, October 7th, 1999

Dubrava Prison, Kosovo, 6:00 p.m.

In was eerily quiet in the detention center. The only sound that could be heard was the steady drip of water, leaking from the ceiling. The monotony was broken by footsteps entering this particular wing of the prison. The prison guard’s footsteps echoed off the concrete, whereas the man following behind him made no sound at all. The guard stopped by a cell. “Zamir, you have a visitor.” Once the announcement was made, the guard left the wing.

Zamir Ristani was lying down on his bed with his eyes closed. The thin mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable. Upon hearing his name being called, he opened his eyes drearily. “Who’s there?” he croaked.

“Get up, Ristani.”

Zamir sighed and slowly crawled out of his bed. He leaned against the wall to face his guest.

“Do you know who I am?”

Zamir stared at the man. “Akira Luong...” He wasn’t very tall and had ghostly-pale skin. He could see the hint of a dark-green claw that reached out from under his white dress shirt to scratch his neck.
Part of a tattoo
. What Zamir found most striking about his visitor was his hair. It appeared to be natural, but it was a very strange shade of red that glistened under the dim lighting. Almost like blood...

“Do you know whom I represent?” Akira spoke in barely a whisper, but Zamir was able to catch every word.

“I have an idea…”

“Good—then we can skip the introductions. Explain to me what happened.”

Zamir looked at Akira, confused. “You know what happened.”

Akira’s eyes narrowed. “Humor me.”

Zamir knew this was not a man to test. “Arben Bardha led NATO right to our doorstep.” Zamir suddenly felt a surge of anger. “He needs to pay! That traitor scum needs to be killed!”

“He will be dealt with in due time.”

“But he is sure to be held in protective custody. Maybe even impossible to get to.”

Akira smiled coldly. “No amount of protection can prevent us from destroying him.” Zamir was both elated and troubled by this response. Akira casually flicked off a piece of lint from his grey suit jacket. “What about the weapons stockpile?”

“Bruce Kasparov and his men confiscated the weapons.”

“All of them?”

Zamir hesitated. “I—well...no, not all of them. There is a private holding that was accumulated during the war. A cold room that was used to house some of the organs that were harvested from the Serbians for trafficking. There were several different types of organs—”

“I—don’t—
care—
about
organs
. How ma
ny weapons?”

Zamir immediately stopped his rambling. “My apologies. There’s enough firepower for a small army, I’d imagine. Assault rifles, grenades, M80 Zoljas, and several high-end explosives.”

“Good. The Master needs access to them.”

Zamir felt an icy grip clutching at his heart. He knew this was coming, but he wasn’t ready to lie to a man who could kill him dead on the spot if he found reason to. Maybe he could still reason with him though—
he had to try
. “Mr. Luong, I am not questioning your authority, but those weapons are desperately needed to continue the rebellion to secure Kosovo’s freedom.”

“It’s over, Ristani. It was over when your army was broken and you landed yourself in prison.” Zamir’s palms turned white as his hands clenched around his cell bars. Akira surveyed Zamir with grim satisfaction. “If it’s any consolation, this does present you the opportunity for revenge. The weapons will be sent overseas, to the United States. To destabilize everything Bruce Kasparov holds dear.”

Zamir looked down at his feet. He didn’t know what to say.
What good was revenge?
Nothing but futile gestures from one that’s already lost. All the years he fought for his country... He knew it was a mistake to ally himself with the type of people he did. They would not shed a tear, even if Kosovo destroyed itself. They used him to secure weapons for their own agenda, nothing more. He slowly raised his eyes from the floor, to face Akira. “Take them. Do with them as you wish. Contact Mr. Jashard to collect the package.”

Akira nodded, then began to walk. Zamir pressed up against his cell bars. “Akira!” he shouted. Akira stopped. “How long am I going to be in here?”

“We’ll arrange your escape when you are needed.”

“When will that be?”

“Don’t hold your breath.” And on that note, Akira left the prison wing. Zamir immediately sought the support of his bed, for his legs were shaking uncontrollably.

***

Friday, October 8th, 1999

Manhattan, New York, 8:15 a.m.

Bruce opened one eye and leaned across his bed to read the alarm clock on his dresser.
Time to get up.
Bruce jumped out of bed
and proceeded to do his morning stretches. Bruce could be considered a
morning person—he had a lot more energy than most, without fixing on coffee. Then again, he was just as wired at night and into the graveyard hours. Sleep simply wasn’t on his
‘
to do’ list.
 

Bruce pulled back the curtains of his window to let in the sunlight.
His room was relatively small compared to the other rooms, but it was more than enough for his belongings. There were roughly twelve or so rooms in the manor, give or take a study. Despite having the option to claim a bigger room for himself, he found his room cozy, as far as cozy rooms in mansions go.

Bruce walked downstairs and entered the kitchen. He looked puzzled to see his son Alex seated at the breakfast table with Santos. “What are you doing here, Alex? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Alex put down his fork, annoyed. “No classes today. I told you like a week ago that they’re having some sort of electrical maintenance today.”

Bruce scratched his head. “Right…electrical maintenance. And they couldn’t schedule this over the weekend?”

Alex shrugged. “Guess not.” Alex was sixteen and looked a lot like his father, except packaged into a tinier frame.

Santos cleaned off his plate, looking satisfied. “You want some breakfast, Bruce? There’s still some scramble in the pan.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bruce grabbed the frying pan and dumped the rest of the eggs onto his plate. “Varick around?”

“Nope, left early. Roy picked up a lead.”

“Really? Roy’s up and about at this time?”

“Apparently. Must be something big for it to cut into his sleep.” Santos pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. “Varick left you the address—he said he might need backup.”

Bruce pocketed the paper and smirked. “You didn’t want to back him up?”

“Well, he specifically asked for you and told me not to dare follow him if I know what’s good for me—so, no.”

Bruce laughed. “Right.” He sat down at the table with his plate. “So, big plans for your day off, Alex?”

“I was thinking about tagging along with you for the day; a take your son to work sort of thing, you know?”

Bruce shook his head. “Yeah, nice try. You know the deal—no exposure to any of this until you’re old enough.”

“And when is that again?”

“When I see fit. Maybe a year, maybe several. Frankly, I don’t want to put any of this on you until your mind has matured enough to make well-informed decisions.”

“Well, I was talking to Mr. Santos, and he thought it was a good idea for me to get a little hands-on experience.”

Bruce looked at Santos. “Oh, really? Mr. Santos said that? What else did
Mr. Santos
say?”

Santos went wide-eyed. “Hey-hey, all I said was that I wouldn’t mind if Alex tagged along, but run it by Bruce. And I guess we have the answer to that, now don’t we?”

Alex shrugged. “Oh well, if you guys don’t want to tell me about the Legion, I can just get the information from our informative media.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Alex looked at Bruce in disbelief. “You haven’t heard? This stuff has blown up all over the news and radio—Shock Talk in particular. That Jerry Stiltson who pretended to be all buddy-buddy is really ripping into you and the organization.”

“Stiltson?” Bruce chuckled. “That two-face; I should’ve known... What’s he saying?”

“Nothing I don’t already know. All of his ‘breaking news’ is a bunch of conspiracy theories about you and the Legion trying to overthrow the government.”

Bruce gave Alex a coy smile. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

Alex shrugged. “The way you want to keep it all under wraps—who knows what to believe?”

Bruce finished wolfing down his breakfast. “Alright, I’ll tell you what—since you’re
so
eager to jump on the bandwagon, you can tag along with me for the day, just this once. How does that sound?”
 

Alex exchanged glances from Bruce to Santos. He was thoroughly overjoyed but didn’t want them to know that. “Cool.” Alex did his best to conceal the excitement from his face. After all, he didn’t want to come off like a hyperactive child.

“Are you sure that it’s safe to bring Alex on this?” Santos inquired. “By the way Varick was talking, it sounded like things could get dicey.”

Bruce flashed a devious smile. “Well, me and Alex won’t have to worry, we’ll be on soup kitchen duty, helping to serve out the grub. You, Santos, will be assisting Varick.”

“Wait, what?” Santos and Alex said in unison.

Alex’s bubble of joy suddenly burst. “A soup kitchen?
Really
?
”
 

“Varick won’t let me help him. He wanted you there, not me.”

Bruce put his hands up innocently. “Hey, you guys wanted this. Alex, here’s your chance to see the ins and outs, and charity is a big part of it, Santos will vouch for that. And, Santos—you should
embrace
this. This will be some good bonding time for you and Varick to smooth out those rough edges.” Santos sighed. “Alright, so it’s settled.” Bruce handed back the address to Santos. “Get over there ASAP; who knows what Varick’s up against. Alex, get ready, we’ll leave in ten. I want to get there early so I can show you proper ladling techniques and whatnot.” Bruce hastily left the kitchen on that note so they wouldn’t see him laughing.