by Bill Brewer
Fatima asked, “Are you OK?”
“Fuck you.”
“OK, well, if you’re all better, I want you to sit up and listen to the mission briefing I have for you.”
Diegert propped himself on his right elbow, saying, “What the fuck was that all about?”
“You’re vulnerable to the seductive powers of women. You need to be able to see beyond the end of your prick and realize how disarming a woman can be. If you and I squared off directly, you would never end up like this. But throw in the possibility of getting laid, and you turn to putty.”
“You’re a fucking bitch.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t ever let another woman do this to you. And don’t tell anyone what happened here today. Now if you’re ready to focus, there is a mission coming up, part of which is going to be assigned to you.”
“Whoa... Whoa… Whoa. You just treat me like shit with your backhanded seduction, and now you’re going to brief me on a mission?”
Fatima’s fiery personality ignited, and she exploded at Diegert. “You want to cry about your treatment, go right ahead, but there is no one to listen to your complaints. If you are not able to produce what’s requested, there are plenty of law enforcement agencies that would love to get their hands on you. Do you understand me?”
Rolling back onto his side so he wouldn’t have to look at her, Diegert said, “What part of the mission do you want me to do?”
“Reconnaissance. A British national, a young boy, has been taken hostage and brought to Romania. Barovitz, the mob boss in Bucharest, is holding him. We’ve been tasked with locating the subject and then formulating a rescue plan. Obviously, we don’t want the boy hurt, and it will be a team mission to retrieve him.”
“You mean we do hostage rescues as well as assassinations?”
Raising her voice, she said, “When we have the opportunity to do something that will directly help an innocent person, we’ll do it.”
“How do we know he’s innocent?”
Stepping over to him and rolling him onto his back, Fatima’s fiery eyes locked on as she said, “He’s an eleven-year-old choir boy. I think that qualifies as innocent.”
“Alright, what have I got to do?”
“Blevinsky has identified three likely locations where the boy might be held. You will perform reconnaissance on a casino. The schematics of the building have been sent to your phone. When the boy’s location is known, his extraction will be carried out by a strike team. Why don’t you go rest up; the recon mission is tonight. Study those schematics and learn them a lot better than the shitty job you did learning code.”
Diegert looked at her with disdain and distrust as he struggled to his feet and left the room.
33
In the free weight area of the fitness center, Blevinsky addressed Strakov, “Alexi, I want you to make certain all the men on the strike team realize that the mission is to rescue the hostage. You must use restraint. Your team is not to fill a room with dead bodies.”
“When do we deploy? Do we have time to practice?”
“You have time. I have reconnaissance missions underway to locate the boy and gather intel.”
“Alright, we’ll practice selective shooting.”
“Good, I’ll keep you updated.”
Blevinsky left Strakov, but the big guy cut his workout short so he could get his team prepared.
As darkness fell, Diegert was driven to Barovitz’s Casino Placere. The gambling establishment, located in an ancient palace, had long since lost its luster. The place was big and old with two floors of gambling. Roulette wheels, blackjack tables, and slot machines dominated the first floor, with the noise, lights, and smoke giving it both an exciting and a depressing feel. The second floor had poker and other high-stakes card games, which were played on well-lit tables in darkened rooms. Barovitz generated huge profits from this facility, and although there were occasional winners, the house dominated, and the mobster used both the profits and individual’s debts to his advantage.
If a person was unable to pay, Barovitz often found some dirty job for them to do or took whatever property or valuables they had as payment. Barovitz considered young women an acceptable commodity. Several daughters of debtors now worked for Barovitz to pay for the losses of their fathers. The period between Christmas and New Year’s was an especially busy time as people celebrated the holidays by feeding their desires for easy money.
The parking lot was full, and people were dressed in their best for an evening in the old palace. Diegert entered the casino with the rest of the gamblers. He was not interested in trying to win money. His objectives were far riskier than losing a couple hundred euros. On his smartphone, he checked the schematic of the area in the basement he was to reconnoiter. At the far end of the corridor, near the men’s room, was a door to a staircase that led to the basement. Diegert found the door locked, but using a pick tool, he opened it and stepped inside. Descending the stairs led him to another locked door. Using his tool, he had it open in thirty seconds. Before entering, he reexamined the diagram on his phone, which revealed that on the other side of the door was a very large storage space. There was also a ground-level exit door on the opposite side of the building. The intel he was given indicated that this was the place where Barovitz held hostages.
Diegert opened the door a crack, peering into the cavernous space. In one corner, there were dozens of aged slot machines stacked horizontally and covered in plastic. There was no movement, but a light shone from the far side of the large space.
Diegert withdrew his HK45 tactical pistol from its holster. The gun was equipped with a laser sight and a flashlight. He affixed his suppressor and was now armed with his favorite weapon. Very cautiously, he stepped out from behind the door. On silent feet, he crossed the room and proceeded to the end of the row of slot machines.
From this vantage point, he could see an area lit by several hanging fluorescent fixtures. In the center of the space was a table with four chairs. The table was littered with food wrappers, cards, ashtrays, and liquor bottles. Flanking the table in an L-shaped arrangement were two dingy couches. Beyond them was a curtain strung between two hooks that were attached to the ceiling. The place showed signs of recent occupation, but at the moment it was deserted.
Diegert, dressed in black, carefully crossed the space, passed the table, and peered behind the curtain. There was a boy with his hands tied through the back of a sturdy chair. He was dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt, with a red tie and a dark-blue blazer displaying the shield of the Westminster Abbey. His right eye was bruised, and he had a cut on his left lower lip, but his eyes made direct contact with Diegert’s from under his tousled mop of blond hair.
Stepping forward, Diegert said, “I’m here to take you home.”
Diegert unraveled the duct tape binding the boy’s wrists. The instant the bonds were broken, the boy took off running. Diegert chased after him into the open space and saw the boy rush around the corner of the stacked slot machines. When Diegert turned the corner, he was confronted by a very large, very bald bodyguard who held the struggling Andrew Cambridge by his right arm. The boy kicked and punched the big man. Annoyed by the boy’s violence, the guard backhanded the lad across the face, turning him into an unconscious heap. The guard faced Diegert, who pulled the trigger of his HK45, firing a sound-suppressed bullet into the big man’s chest. The round delivered a solid body blow, but the guard’s Kevlar vest stopped the bullet, and he came forward, bringing the fight to Diegert. Stepping behind the slot machines, Diegert eluded his enemy. He sprinted back to the table and behind the curtain, drawing the guard away from the boy. Listening carefully, Diegert could hear the angry guard coming. When the big, bald man lifted the curtain, Diegert’s laser sight marked the spot on the guard’s forehead where the bullet entered his brain. The big guy’s body collapsed with a powerful thud, and Diegert sprinted back to Andrew Cambridge.
Lifting the unconscious boy over his shoulder, Diegert headed
for the exit down the hallway on the south side of the building. As he moved down the hall, Diegert texted Fatima.
I have the boy. I need extraction at the south end of the casino.
Fatima’s response was immediate; she called, saying, “God damn it, you were only supposed to do reconnaissance. What the fuck is going on?”
“We’ll argue later. Right now, I need help getting the boy out of here.”
“There is no help. Nothing is organized.”
“Fuckin’ get it together. Call me back.”
The elevator descended and opened up not far from the door that Diegert had used to enter the basement. A second bodyguard exited the elevator, stepped around the defunct slot machines, and walked to the area where he was to relieve his associate. When he entered the area formed by the table and couches, he did not see his comrade and shouted, “Boris?”
When there was no reply, he moved to the curtained-off area, pulled back the cloth, and saw his dead comrade. Dismayed as he was by his dead associate, the boy’s absence quickly rose to prominence, and he began searching for the missing prisoner.
Fatima realized she had to do something but deploying a rescue team was out of the question and would certainly fail without thorough planning. Checking the map, she noticed a large water tower south of the casino that was serviced by a dirt road. If Diegert could get there, she could extract him with a vehicle. She texted him the plan.
Extract at the water tower in 30 mins.
Diegert checked the map on his smartphone. The water tower sat on a hill across from the parking lot surrounded by thin woods and a fence. He recalled seeing a toolbox on the floor near one of the couches. He made Andrew as comfortable as possible, turned off the hall lights, and went back to get a cutting tool for the fence.
After searching all the many hiding places in the big room, the bodyguard headed down the south hallway. Diegert could see the long shadow cast by whomever was backlit as he walked down the hall. From the cover of darkness, Diegert sprinted forward, placing a vicious choke strike on the trachea of the bodyguard. The shock and force of the strike cracked the man’s larynx, triggering a disabling coughing fit. Diegert slugged the guy in the gut and then chopped him on the back of the neck, felling him to the ground.
Diegert didn’t want to shoot this man in front of Andrew. He stepped back down the hallway to check on the boy. When he turned on the lights, the brightness startled the boy, who was suddenly awake and aware. Diegert approached the boy in a manner he assumed was friendly and reassuring. “Andrew, everything is going to be okay. Stay here, and I’ll be right back to take you to safety. Okay?”
To the boy, none of it made sense, and Diegert looked like just another tough guy dressed in black.
Diegert drew his pistol and returned to the sputtering guard. He hauled the guy to his feet and pushed him back to the big room. He made him open the toolbox and dump the contents on the table. A hammer, screwdrivers, nails, screws, washers, but the closest thing to a cutting tool was a pair of needle-nose pliers and a wood-handled rasp. He stuck these two tools in a pouch pocket and looked back up to see the bodyguard reaching for the hammer. Diegert pointed his pistol at him, saying, “Touch it and I nail you.”
Suddenly, a blaring alarm startled both men. The bodyguard looked past Diegert down the hallway. Diegert turned instinctively to the sound, giving the bodyguard the moment he needed to grab the hammer and swing at Diegert’s right arm. The strike on his radius was intense, and Diegert lost the grip on his pistol. The bodyguard swung the hammer at his head, and Diegert leaned back as the head of the hammer passed within millimeters of his face. Diegert stepped in and used his arm to block the bodyguard’s return swing. He struck him in the temple with three quick jabs. The bodyguard stumbled to his left, and Diegert delivered a full-force kick to the hip. Having fallen on his left side, the bodyguard flung the hammer at Diegert, striking him in his already injured ribs. Diegert gasped for air as the cage of protective bones was once again tested.
The bodyguard got to his feet, grabbed a screwdriver, and slashed at Diegert. The boy’s would-be rescuer dodged the swipes and swings the big guy made with the pointed tool. Diegert stepped back up against one of the couches and felt the rasp he had in his pocket. The bodyguard thought he had his enemy trapped against the furniture and strode forward to impale him. Diegert flipped backward over the couch, extracting the rasp from his pocket. Holding the wood handle, he watched as the bodyguard prepared to climb over the couch. The moment the big guy’s foot was on the unstable cushions, Diegert rushed forward and slashed the rasp across the bodyguard’s face. So destructive was the sharp surface of the rasp that the guy’s right cheek flayed open, revealing his molars. The blood poured out of his lacerated face, escalating his anger.
Diegert stepped out into an open area and squared off with his determined foe. With the screwdriver held forward, the bodyguard lunged at Diegert, who was able to avoid the thrusts. Eventually, the frustrated attacker charged, and Diegert struck him with the rasp on the back of his arm, shredding his shirtsleeve and turning it crimson from his ripped triceps.
Diegert struck again, this time hitting his opponent on the back of the head. The bodyguard was stunned from the blow, and Diegert hit him again and again with the rasp until the vertebrae in his neck were severed, blood erupting from the spinal arteries. The big bodyguard’s body slumped forward, collapsing on the floor as his life-sustaining fluids pulsed out of his neck.
Diegert found his H&K just as the elevator doors opened and two more men stepped out. With the slot machines as a barrier, Diegert turned and sprinted down the hallway. Andrew was no longer there, and he raced through the open door. Outside, he noticed a pile of pallets. Grabbing one, he wedged it under the doorknob, making the exit inoperable from the inside.
34
From the door, Diegert saw tracks leading to the parking lot. The poorly plowed gravel space had at least a hundred cars in it, and Diegert had no idea where Andrew might be. He started searching the lot, looking down the aisles between cars. Finding nothing, he wondered if Andrew would’ve taken off into the woods, but there were no tracks in that direction. As his frustration grew, Diegert heard a group of kids shouting and laughing not far away. He moved in their direction and could see a group of six teens standing in a circle. The hoodlums surrounded Andrew and were taunting and teasing him. The boy was standing his ground as his tormentors threw snowballs and insults at him. Diegert stepped in front of Andrew and told the punks, “Get the fuck out of here.” One look at the menacing face of David Diegert was enough to give them pause, but the gun in his hand made the group of troublemakers quickly disperse.
Diegert turned to Andrew, saying, “I know you don’t know me, and you’ve been through some terrible things, but for your safety and survival you have to come with me. Now.”
Diegert had moved to the fence at the base of the water tower hill. The wire-cutting jaws on the pliers were completely inadequate to cut through the fencing. Diegert used them, though, to untwist the chain link diamonds. As he struggled with the metal, men from the casino spotted them and came running. The guys were taking pot shots at Diegert, and he had to stop untangling the fencing and return fire. Each time they stopped firing he went back to work dismantling the barrier. Soon he could hear the men’s voices growing closer. The chain links were almost untangled enough for them to slip through.
Diegert looked back to see one of the men ten meters away sighting his assault rifle on them. Covering Andrew, he looked up to see the man’s head explode off his shoulders. The beam of a laser sight was briefly visible in the bloody spray before the lifeless body collapsed to the ground. The next man in the lot was similarly vanquished, and Diegert quickly pulled the fencing apart so that he and Andrew could crawl through.
They ran a short distance through the woods and began ascending the hill. Two more men were firing on them as they were exposed on the hillside. The sniper fire was not able to take them out but did keep
them pinned down long enough for Diegert to pick Andrew up and shoulder haul him up to the top of the hill. Fatima directed them to the SUV while she placed an incendiary round into the chamber of her rifle. She aimed carefully at the gas tank of the car the men were hiding behind. The shot entered the tank, igniting its contents and taking out the last two men who knew where the boy had gone.
Diegert sat in the driver’s seat, and Andrew was buckled in the back. Fatima put her rifle in the back of the vehicle and jumped into the front passenger’s seat. She reluctantly handed Diegert the keys, saying, “You’re in deep shit. What the fuck were you doing? I had to pull a favor to get the rifle, and you owe me.”
“Thanks for coming. I’d like to introduce you to Andrew Cambridge, but I request that you control your profane tongue.”
Fatima’s anger hung on her face until she turned to Andrew. When she looked at the traumatized boy, she became warm and gentle. Her smile was loving and comforting. Diegert drove down the hill heading back to Headquarters. She spoke to Andrew softly. “It’s all over, you’re going to be OK. You’re going home to be with your family. Don’t be frightened, Hamni, we’ll be in a safe place very soon.”
She reached her hand back and caressed the boy’s forearm. He closed his eyes, and the tears squeezed out of his lids and down his cheeks. Fatima pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, unbuckled her seat belt, and climbed in the back to hug Andrew in her arms. “Shhh…” she said as the boy took comfort in her embrace.
When Diegert neared the Headquarters, he looked back and saw that Andrew was asleep in Fatima’s arms. She looked content and more peaceful than he had ever seen her. With less than a mile to go, Fatima told Diegert, “I don’t want you telling anyone about my involvement with this operation. You understand?”
“Who’s Hamni?”