No Apologies and No Regrets

by Roddy Wix

Frank walked along the promenade enjoying the sun when his sat phone buzzed. Harry Brooke in Virginia.

  “Yes.” He knew the line to be secure but couldn’t shake the old habit of being very spare with his conversation.

  “I have new intel. My client has informed me that time is of the essence and he wants to move on to phase two of the engagement immediately. Repeat, immediately.”

  “Understood.” Frank pocketed his phone and stood for a moment looking at the tranquil waters of the Mediterranean. He didn't relish this turn of events. Killing Ivan at close range was not something he wanted to do and making it happen quickly changed the paradigm even more. He was a sniper. He stalked bad guys and eliminated them from a distance. Frank never fancied himself a spy and certainly not a murderer, but his normal MO was not how this operation would go down. There were few options and his ability to think on the run and improvise would be tested.

  In less than a minute he had the Hotel Imperator desk operator on the phone.

  “Bon jours. Monsieur Rusikov, sil vous plait.” He had excellent French grammar skills, but the accent was most often mistaken for German or Dutch.

  “I will put you through to his room.”

  “Merci.”

  The phone rang without answer and the hotel operator came back on the line.

  “Is there a message?”

  “Non. Merci beau coup. Au’revoirs.”

  “Au’revoirs, Monsieur.”

  Well, at least he had confirmed that Ivan was still in the hotel. That was a start. He walked back along the promenade des Anglais until he was directly across from the Imperator. As he tried to work out what his next move would be, a silver Lamborghini pulled loudly up to the front of the hotel, its driver none other than Ivan Rusikov. Frank walked casually across the busy thoroughfare and into the capacious and garish lobby. He watched Ivan waiting for an elevator and nonchalantly joined him and another guest as they continued their wait for the car. From then on common sense played a greater role than spy craft in getting to Ivan’s floor. Frank got off two floors below with the other passenger then took the stairs arriving in time to catch site of Ivan entering one of the suites. Now he had the room number.

  Once again, without a lot of thought, he walked down to the room and knocked on the door. Frank could hear Ivan talking, he presumed on the phone. Ivan continued talking while he opened the door. Covering the smart phone with his hand he asked, “Yes?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I might have a word with you about your car?”

  “My car?”

  He started to say more but apparently the person on the phone was speaking into his ear. Ivan held up a hand toward Frank and continued his conversation.

  “That’s fine, Francesca. Enjoy yourself and I will see you in an hour.”

  “Sorry again. Didn’t mean to interrupt you and your wife.”

  “My girlfriend. Now, what about my car?” Ivan seemed perturbed.

  “I’m a guest in the hotel. I noticed you pulling up in the Murcielago. I’m a Ferrari owner, but I’m thinking about getting one. Wondered how you like it.”

  Ivan’s attitude improved a little.

  “Actually I also own a Ferrari. I took delivery of the Lamborghini only this morning. I've driven no further than Monte Carlo and back. I guess I’m not a good person to ask, but I can tell you I think I like the Ferrari better.”

  “Thanks, then. Sorry I disturbed you. Say, may I buy you a drink in appreciation?”

  “Well, my girlfriend won’t be back for awhile.” Ivan appeared to give the invitation serious consideration, but Frank decided there was no time like the present to take action.

  He struck like a snake stepping quickly into the room and delivering a stunning chop to Ivan’s neck. Before Ivan crumpled to the floor Frank propped him up on his rubbery legs. Assessing the situation with blinding speed he noticed an open door leading onto a fairly wide balcony. Without a wasted moment he manhandled Ivan toward the door and in a single dance like motion waltzed him over to the railing and flung him off. The fall would be about a hundred and twenty feet onto concrete and certainly should be fatal. Frank wasted no time looking over the edge to verify the result. He stepped back gracefully and exited the suite. There was no one in the hall and he could only detect the location of a few security cameras. So, he lowered his head and ducked into a stairwell. Frank Beretta walked briskly to the ground floor and left the building by the main entrance.

  A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk and surrounded Ivan's body. Frank ambled casually that direction and inquired of someone in the fringe of the throng what was going on.

  “A man fell from the hotel.”

  “I am a doctor. Does he need medical help?”

  The woman pushed Frank forward through the crowd yelling, “This man is a doctor.”

  When he emerged into the center of the onlookers he found Ivan to be most decidedly dead. The back of his skull appeared to be crushed. A handsome, middle aged woman knelt beside the corpse trying in vain to find a carotid pulse.

  “This man has expired,” the American doctor said somberly. She scanned the throng to see if the other physician was still standing there, but he was not. In this day and age why get involved if you don’t have to, she asked herself. I’ll be answering questions for hours myself. I wish I could just walk away.

  Frank wandered aimlessly down the promenade until he found an agreeable bar where he ordered a scotch on the rocks. The sun set lower in the sky and his mood fell with it. He’d been lucky, or so it appeared, but an unsettling thought remained. So, now I’m a cold blooded killer. Is this what we’ve come to? Shooting the CIA agents was bad, but tossing the young hacker off the top floor was worse. He drank the scotch quickly and ordered another that he sipped more slowly as the sky grew dark.

  An hour later he walked back to his hotel, collected the Mercedes from the private garage, and drove in the direction of Cannes. Letting the cool night air’s calming effect wash over him he thought alternately about the woman he adored and the man he had just pitched off a hotel balcony. In a way he felt he now understood Joey better and he loved her more than ever.

  He returned to the Negresco after midnight and sleep would not come easily. When dawn arrived he expected to be on his way to Geneva and then on to Milan and a long awaited encounter.

  41.