Agent Omega: You Only Live Forever

by Schaffer, Bernard

  A massive man, heavily sweating and panting, stepped into the elevator with Price. Sweat glistened from his huge, round face as he ducked his head to get under the elevator's door. The top of his hat nearly brushed the recessed lights built into the ceiling.

  A second man squeezed in behind him, standing as tall as Price, but dressed in what could only be described as a modern day version of a zoot suit. His hair was greased back against his head and he was chewing the end of a wooden match.

  Someone has seen too many gangster movies.

  The elevator doors closed behind them and they began to descend, ticking off floors one after the other, until the big man nodded to the other and he reached out and flicked the emergency stop switch.

  The men looked at Price and Price looked at the men. He decided not to wait and started swinging.

  Fists flew and legs flailed. All three of them grunted and cursed as they slammed into the sides of the compartment, rocking the elevator dangerously hard on its cables. Price jabbed his thumb into the large man's eye as hard and deep as he could, trying to rip out the weeping orb. The smaller one's arm came around Price's throat and pulled him backwards, trying to take him to the ground where they could stomp him to death. Or even, Price thought, have the fat one sit on me and smother me to death.

  Price kicked backwards, trying to snap the man's knee or shin.

  The large one was bent over clutching his face, hollering, "My eye! I can't see out of it! I'm going to cut your balls off and feed them to you!"

  There was too much blood rushing into Price's ears for him to hear the threat. The other man's chokehold was cutting off Price's air. In a few moments, he was going to collapse, and then he would be at their mercy.

  Price wrenched himself around and swung his forehead straight into the smaller man's nose. It was a direct hit, and he did it again and again until his own head rang and the other man's face was a tangled mass of blood and snot. "I got him! I got him!" the smaller one shouted. "Do something!"

  The behemoth grabbed a handful of Price's hair and yanked him back, holding him fast. "I've got the pruning shears down in the trunk."

  Price managed to slide his hand inside his coat and grab the handle of his gun from his shoulder holster. There was no room to pull it out. Instead, he wedged his finger inside the trigger guard and squirmed to get left arm up and out of the way.

  This was my favorite coat, too.

  The back section of his jacket burst apart as the Beretta fired from inside his holster, hitting the large man directly in the center of his chest. The fabric around Price's armpit was on fire from the gunshot, hot flames licking his skin as he cried out.

  The fierce grip on his hair went slack and the larger man slumped to the side and gurgled his last, just as Price slammed his knee into the other man's groin and knocked him backwards. He pushed himself away and ripped off his coat and tossed it to the ground. Price pulled the Beretta out and aimed it at the would-be assassin. "Stand up," Price said.

  The man was bent forward, clutching his privates, and he groaned, "Go to hell."

  "Have it your way." Price squeezed off two quick rounds into the man's kneecaps that knocked him to the floor. The sound was deafening inside the elevator and Price's ears rang so fiercely he could barely hear himself say, "Do I have your attention?"

  The man rolled around on the elevator floor, clutching his bloody knees, "You piece of crap! What the hell do you want?"

  "How were you going to dispose of my body?" Price said.

  "Nobody wanted to kill you. We was just gonna scare you!"

  Price cocked the hammer back on the Beretta, impatiently.

  "Stop, stop! All right, there's a grey Ford parked in the basement garage. It's right near the elevator exit. Frankie has the keys."

  "How many men are in the car?"

  "No one else," the man moaned. "Christ, this hurts, this hurts, this hurts."

  "I will get you help if you cooperate. Who sent you to kill me?"

  "I don't know, I swear it. Me and Frankie got a call from our boss telling us to get over to the hotel and take care of you."

  "How did you know who I was?"

  "When we picked up the car, there was photographs and stuff. It's all still in the glove box. Okay? That's all I know. I swear on my mother!"

  Price fired one shot into the center of the man's forehead, instantly silencing the chatter. He flicked the emergency stop switch and the elevator creaked and whined as it started heading back down to the basement.

  He rifled through their pockets, taking the cash and stuffing it into his own. He dumped out the remaining contents of their wallets and took off their watches and jewelry. Hopefully, it would be enough to give the police the excuse to write the whole thing off as a robbery. It's not like anyone would cry over the loss of two hoods.

  Price lit a cigarette and tried to calm his nerves. God bless flashy gangsters, he thought. Combined, they were carrying over one thousand dollars.

  That will come in handy once Admiral Knight finds out I'm not coming back and he shuts off my funds.

  The elevator reached the final stop and the doors dinged as they opened. A third man with slicked back hair and a long black trench coat was standing just outside the elevator, waiting for it to open. "What the hell was all that shooting, you guys? How many times did you have to plug the…"

  The man's voice trailed off as he looked in and saw both the other gangsters laying crumpled on the floor and Stuart Price standing over them.

  Price spat out his cigarette and frantically grabbed for his gun, managing to rip it out of the holster faster than the other man, and lunge forward. He cracked the frame of the gun against the gangster's temple and the man dropped immediately, slumping down to the concrete floor of the parking lot, motionless. Price spun around in every direction, looking for new assailants. There didn't seem to be any.

  He pressed himself against one of the support columns and tried to catch his breath. He was going to be sick.

  Price steered the car down the street as he looked through the man's wallet, removing another $200 and his driver's license. Alfredo Scantiatti, it said. There was a phone number on a piece of paper tucked inside the wallet's money flap.

  He found the man's gun tucked in the side of the driver's door and he picked it up to admire it. The .357 Magnum was a distinctly American weapon, lacking all the finesse of a European firearm but packed an elephant gun's worth of firepower. In some ways, it reminded him of the Webley. He set it on his lap.

  Price checked the road, making sure they were still going straight, and he reached across to open the glove compartment. There was a packet of information about Price inside it, complete with surveillance photos of him from the moment he arrived at the airport.

  Scantiatti was slumped over in the passenger seat, tied up with the seat buckle straps. Price tapped him on the face and said, "Nap time is over, Alfredo. Wake up."

  Scantiatti's eyes fluttered and he looked around in confusion, like he hadn't really expected to wake up at all. Price held up one of the photographs and said, "Who exactly do you work for, Alfredo?"

  Scantiatti looked away and said, "Figure it out yourself, dirtbag."

  "Who were you supposed to call once I was dead?"

  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

  Price gripped the heavy chrome gun in his hand and slammed Scantiatti across the forehead with the thick barrel.

  "Christ in Heaven!" Scantiatti cried out, pressing his bleeding face into his hands. "Stop hitting me in the face with guns!"

  "The number you were supposed to call, remember? Is it the one I found in your wallet?"

  "Yeah," Scantiatti whimpered. "We was supposed to call after you was in the river."

  "Good boy," Price said. "And who were you supposed to be calling?"

  "They don't tell me nothin', okay? I'm just a foot soldier. I ain't had my button more than a year. I swear on the eyes of my mother, if you let me go, I won't tell
nobody. I'll call the number. I'll tell them you're dead!"

  "What phone were you supposed to call them from?" Price said.

  "The filling station, right after you get off the Delaware Memorial Bridge. They gave me a code word," Scantiatti added quickly. "If I don't say it, they'll know something went wrong. You have to keep me alive or else I'm not giving you the code word."

  Price looked at him. "You have my word, I will not kill you."

  Price dialed the number. It only rang once before a man picked up and said, "Well?"

  "It's done," Price said, giving it his best Italian-American accent.

  "Good," the man on the other end said. "Quick question. If you were a bird, what bird would you be?"

  "I'd be a dodo," Price said. His fingers tightened around the phone's receiver. He knew the voice on the other end.

  "That’s a good boy," Chuck Regis said. "Your crew will be getting a nice little bonus in your envelope for this. Keep up the good work."

  Price hung up the phone and stood staring at it for a moment. Alfredo Scantiatti knocked on the passenger side window's glass and called out, "Hey! Hey? Did it work? I gave you the right word, right? It worked just like I said, and you is gonna let me out, right?"

  Price got into the car and said, "It worked. Now be quiet so I can think."

  He drove the Ford onto the interstate, following the river along his right side. He found an exit that took him closer to the water, winding along a cliff with no guard rail. Price saw a bend in the road ahead and started to accelerate. "Slow down, okay? You said you wasn't gonna kill me, right?" Scantiatti said, laughing nervously. "That counts for getting us into a wreck, too. Slow down, will ya? I'm serious. This is a dangerous road!"

  Price stamped on the gas pedal and shifted into fourth gear, aiming straight for the curve. Alfredo screamed as he ducked low, trying to cover his head with his hands.

  Price grabbed the car door's handle and popped it open, holding it against the force of the wind as he grabbed for his bag. He rolled out of the door like a diver, clutching his bag to his chest to cushion himself against the force of hitting the street. Price felt the car tires rip past him as he bounced and skidded on the asphalt.

  By the time he looked up, the Ford's front end was just going over the side of the cliff. Its back axle popped straight up into the air, tires spinning uselessly for a moment just before the entire car vanished.

  Price pressed up from the street and inspected his ruined clothes. The friction from jumping out of a moving car had left his shirt and pants in shreds. He listened to the glass smashing and metal bending as the car bounced and crashed against the rocky surface of the cliff as it hurtled toward the water.

  There was a loud splash and Price picked up his bag and peered down at the car, floating upside down in the water. There were no signs of movement within. "I said I wouldn't kill you," Price said, looking down. "I never said the fall wouldn't."

  Dr. Jonas Salk sat in his laboratory's office, reviewing and re-reviewing the arrangements for the first trial of his polio vaccine. Everything had to be perfect, absolutely perfect. The weight of what he was trying to accomplish, and what it might mean to children around the world, loomed over him constantly. But he was determined not to fail. A knock on the office door interrupted his thoughts and Salk turned around to see a shiny badge pressed against the frosted glass. He got up to answer and said, "Hello, may I help you?"

  Chuck Regis smiled at the doctor and said, "No, but I sure as hell can help you."

  Dr. Salk listened to Regis's strange tale with increasing disbelief. A madman trying to poison the vaccine? Enemy agents from foreign countries? Someone willing to kill Salk rather than see his cure released to the world? He shook his head and said, "That's preposterous, Mr. Regis. Who in the world would want to stop me from curing polio?"

  "A dangerous subversive, sir," Regis said. "It's embarrassing to admit, but we had him in custody and he slipped through our fingers. He's working with an international organization that is hell-bent on contaminating your vaccine. I flew in direct from Langley this morning to personally make sure that does not happen. The United States government takes this situation very, very seriously, Doctor Salk. We admire your good work and are extremely interested in protecting you. We've got agents surrounding the facility. There is no way in hell he'll get anywhere near you."

  "That's very comforting. I appreciate it," the doctor said. "It's all just too strange to be believable though."

  "Most people have trouble believing it right up until they're looking down the barrel of a gun, Doc. All that matters now is that we keep that vaccine and you safe. There's lots of little boys and girls who we don't want to see crippled, know what I mean?"

  Salk nodded, "But of course. That's the whole idea."

  "Exactly," Regis said, picking up an empty test tube from the counter. He looked around approvingly at the various pieces of equipment, "So where is it?"

  "Where is what?"

  "The vaccine. I need to put some men on it."

  "I appreciate that, but it is unnecessary."

  Regis' eyes narrowed. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear, Doc. Where is the vaccine?"

  "I am terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Agent Regis, but I assure you it is perfectly safe. That is all I am going to say about it."

  The test tube slipped from Regis's fingers and smashed to the ground. He stepped on the glass and advanced on the doctor, saying, "You don't really want to make me angry, Doctor Salk. If I have to get creative in terms of ways of making you tell me where the vaccine is, you aren't really going to enjoy it."

  Dr. Salk tried to swallow, but found he suddenly could not breathe. He found enough courage, however, to stand up straight and say, "I will not give it to you, or to anyone else."

  Regis massaged his temple with his hand and said, "I really didn't want to have to do this. I really, really didn't. Victor? You out there?"

  "Ja," came the reply as the door opened.

  An older, blonde-haired man walked inside the office carrying a black duffel bag. He sneered at Jonas Salk as looked the smaller man up and down and said, "My, my, look at the nice little Jew you've found for me. Hello, Jew. You may call me Victor."

  Regis patted Kramer on the shoulder and said, "Me and Mr. Kramer here go way back. Those bleeding hearts over at Nuremburg didn't quite have the same high opinion of him and his talents. I'll give you one guess what those talents are, doc."

  Dr. Salk looked at Kramer's sneer and said, "I am sure I do not know what to know what they are."

  "Well," Regis said. "Back in the day, when Kramer here was an Obersturmbannfuhrer in the SS, he specialized in being creative. Now, one last time, doc. Where's the vaccine?"

  Jonas Salk felt himself shiver, but still said, "The two of you can go to hell!"

  "All right," Regis sighed. He patted Victor Kramer on the shoulder and said, "I guess this will be like old times for you, pal. Remember, not the face. He's got to go on TV in a few days. You two kids have fun now. I'll make sure nobody bothers you."

  The door closed and Kramer smiled at Jonas Salk, tapping his finger on the side of his chin in thought. His eyebrows raised as if he suddenly had an idea and he said, "Sit down and take off your shoes and socks."

  "No," Salk said. "I will not."

  Kramer chopped him in the throat with the tips of his fingers, instantly dropping the doctor to his knees, gasping for air. The Nazi kicked Salk in the stomach, lifting his body off of the floor. He shook his head and said, "After all these years, you people still do not know how to listen." Kramer dropped to his bag and dug around inside, keeping an eye on the floor where Salk writhed in pain.

  He removed a pair of metal pliers from the bag and snapped them together, showing them to Salk. "These are my favorite," he said.

  Salk screamed as Kramer grabbed his foot and hoisted it into the air. He ripped off the doctor's shoe and sock and said, "Where is the vaccine?"

  "Go to hell!" Salk shouted.


  Kramer fit the teeth of the pliers around the big toe of Salk's right foot. "One more time, I ask, and then I squeeze. Where is it?"

  "Never!" Salk shouted.

  Victor Kramer smiled, then clamped down on the bone inside Salk's toe until it crunched. Salk's shrieks of pain rang out until his voice went hoarse and he collapsed to the floor, but he did not beg the Nazi son of a bitch for mercy and he did not tell where the vaccine was hidden. Tears blurred the doctor's eyes as he looked up, seeing the office door open behind Kramer.

  Another man entered into the room, but Kramer was too busy enjoying himself to notice.

  The Nazi dropped Salk's injured foot to the ground and said, "Maybe next I show you how your testicles go pop, ja?"

  Dr. Salk watched the second man come up behind Kramer and grab the Nazi's blonde hair hard enough to snap his head back. A blade flashed in the air as it circled around and up into the soft spot under Kramer's chin. It sunk in deep enough to spear the Nazi's tongue to the roof of his mouth as he flailed his arms and staggered backwards.

  Victor Kramer managed to turn around in time to see the face of the man who'd stabbed him and his eyes widened in horror. "You…" he sputtered, sending torrents of hot blood spilling out of the corners of his mouth. "It…can't be…"

  Stuart Price drove the heel of his palm up into the hilt of the knife, sending it deep into Kramer's brain stem. He watched the Nazi fall to the floor and waited for him to stop squirming enough so that he could retrieve his knife.

  Jonas Salk lifted himself back up on his chair and looked away as Price unseated his blade from the other man's throat and cleaned it off. "What in God's name is going on? Who the hell are you?"

  "Emily Watson sent me."

  "Emily?" Salk said, "Is she wrapped up in this? Please tell me that she's all right."

  "They've got her. She wanted me to make sure your vaccine is safe. From what I've seen, we're going to have a hell of a time pulling that off. There are CIA agents everywhere."

  Dr. Salk inspected his bleeding, purple toe and muttered, "God, this hurts. They aren't CIA. They're MKULTRA. There is a large difference, I'm afraid."