by Paul Bagnell
*****
Tom changed clothes and headed out. The laces of his hiking boots tapped against the ground as he hurried toward McBridle’s crumpled sedan and hoped that the moulded bumpers wouldn’t fly away. He backed out from the driveway and headed for the place Samuel had asked to meet. It all sounded suspicious. Samuel’s tone of voice was urgent; and for a do-nothing rich kid, he sounded desperate. Tom thought meeting Samuel Carravecky that he could be placing himself in a dangerous position; but he had to take the chance and hope he'd come up a winner.
The drive took about twenty minutes. Tom parked the vehicle on the main street near a loading zone located at the corner. There was a sign positioned near the curb--NO PARKING AFTER 6:00 PM. Nearby a store owner kept a watchful eye on the neighbourhood as he swept the sidewalk in front of his small grocery business; the retailer eyeballed Tom when he got out of the car and stood waiting under a streetlight at the corner.
“Bronze, don’t turn around,” a voice warned. “Wait a few seconds and follow me into the alley.”
“Is this Samuel?”
“No questions. Just do as I’ve instructed; and no one gets killed tonight.”
Tom waited as ordered; then he followed the unidentified man wearing a hooded jersey into the mouth of the alleyway.
At the end of the narrow opening there was a dim red light that buzzed on and off over an emergency exit that was cluttered with boxes of spoiled produce and a family of dented, smelly garbage cans that were kicked on their sides.
Tom walked toward the light, stopped halfway, looked around; and listened.
“Come closer,” a man said with a strong foreign accent. The figure was camouflaged by the darkness.
Tom initially thought it was Samuel, but the East Slavic emphasis was perhaps attached to the voice Ken Sandle had warned about.
The man emerged from the shadows. He stood a tall six-feet-three and weighed about two hundred and thirty pounds. His black hair was slicked back with an even blacker hair gel. His clean-shaven face showed no expression of joy, only ruthless intimidation. And his narrow eyes were as cold as icy steel. Two beefy bodyguards equipped with American-issued military hardware flanked him.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Tom attacked with an assertive tongue.
“My identity or purpose is not your importance at this time,” the man replied bluntly.
“Someone called me here, and I want some answers,” Tom ordered.
“Samuel had spoken highly of you.”
“I’ve only met the guy once so that’s very thoughtful of him to think of me as a friend,” Tom commented rudely.
The man’s face hardened, “I was expecting more of a challenge than the man I see before me.”
“What you see isn’t always what you get,” Tom replied firmly.
Samuel stepped out from the darkness and stood with the soldiers.
Tom’s eyes shifted toward the young Carravecky. “What is it you wanted to give me?” Tom demanded forcefully. “I haven’t got all night to stand around chitchatting with your army of boyfriends.”
The commander soldiered forward and answered with a commanding voice, “Himself.”
“Himself! What’s this all about?” Tom replied sharply.
“He wants to give you himself,” the commander said with his hand on the handle of a gun that was tucked in his waist belt.
“No, that’s not true,” Samuel explained with a defiant tone. “Remmie, we had a deal.”
“Silence; I speak, you listen,” the commander stormed.
Samuel sunk into the shadows.
“My young American friend has been our inside communications’ channel for a few months,” as he stepped toward Bronze, “and helped us penetrate Carravecky’s security system on more than one occasion. Isn’t that right, Sammy?” the commander said with an abusive tone as he withdrew the gun from his belt and stood face to face with Tom. “They call me Remmie, Remmie Take, because what I want, I take; and, now, I must take what I want; if not, I will take your life as an act of payment.”
“Samuel, what the hell did you get yourself into?” Tom demanded and backed up a few defensive steps.
Young Carravecky didn’t respond and almost tried to become invisible.
“You see, our friend Sammy had other plans.”
“Remmie, I did all I could do,” Samuel muttered. “It’s not my fault.”
Remmie’s stare was harder than glacier ice, and Samuel shivered with fear. “He released classified information to the known public, the news media got wind of it; and now this exposure has threatened our mission.” He paused in a controlled silence. “We thought our operation was complete until recently. I guess Samuel had neglected to tell us that the changes in the satellite up-link programs were killed.”
“Remmie, I tried to re-enter the codes; but after the first security breach, there was no way I could get close enough to change the programming in the satellite security system,” Samuel said frantically as he backed away.
Remmie told Samuel to shut up; then he aimed the gun toward him. “This gun is a Colt .45. It was made especially for me twenty-five years ago. Silver plated with gold trim; and in all of the years I’ve owned it, I never once failed my objective,” Remmie gloated. “Sammy, I’m sorry it has to end this way,” he said, and thumbed back the hammer.
Samuel wept like a little boy. “I’ve tried. Give me another chance--one more chance--this time I can do it. I’ll make things right,” but his cries were in vain. He was out of breath and sobbing for Remmie to spare his privileged life.
Tom attempted an attack, but he was subdued by the two heavily armed soldiers. He struggled to free himself from their weapons hold, but their firepower was too overwhelming. “Let him go; he’s just a stupid boy,” Tom shouted, expecting a retreat.
Samuel bobbled his escape.
Remmie easily restrained him by the ear. “That’s easier said than done; we want what belongs to us,” he replied with a heavy voice as he shoved Samuel to one side.
“What belongs to you? Tell me,” Tom demanded.
Remmie was pressed in Tom’s face, “Our sky weapon system, a device that will change the tactical strategy of war, will make us strong,” Remmie barked with nasty vengeance in his dominant voice.
Tom tried to break free, but an active weapon barrel was stuffed in his face.
“You see. Your government was afraid to provoke another arms race with the Russians and withdrew their financial support. Our employer paid for this weapon. Now, it wants what it paid for.”
“Who are you talking about--this mysterious European investment group?” Tom clamoured like he already knew the answer.
“Our business is not your concern,” Remmie reported.
“It is my concern if it involves me and my country.”
“You are a very pure and patriotic citizen for a yellow-bellied American.”
“You and your sick band of goons will be stopped. I’ll see to that,” Tom shouted.
“No one can stop me or my men. We are beyond stoppable, and you must understand that,” Remmie gloated.
Tom was powerless against Remmie’s dominance and rested his defences, at least for now.
When Remmie was satisfied that Bronze was contained, he continued. “Just imagine launching a specially-designed weapon from a specially-designed sky carrier that is capable of flying across an ocean at speeds far beyond conventional methods--travel at space altitudes and beyond across the stratosphere or skim across the ground surface while avoiding all detection from the most sophisticated tracking systems. For any country possessing such an advanced piece of technology is an unimaginable dream, and you say we’re sick.”
Tom could sense the vulgarity radiating from this military madman.
“There is no stopping the future. The words to describe invincible are Carra-Messen Missile Skid Weapon System.” Remmie turned toward Samuel, “My young Carravecky friend, you have become a liability to us; and our employer s
ays thank you for your unfaithful services and goodbye.” He looked at Tom. “It’s now your turn to help us get back what belongs to us,” as he fired a bullet from his gun into Samuel’s heart and destroyed him before his dead body hit the alleyway.
Remmie’s face revealed a pleasure for fresh blood. “Nobody double-crosses me and lives to tell their grandchildren,” he said and holstered the gun in his belt. “Now, business is back to normal. Men, we have a mission to repair.”
The soldiers tightened their hold on the accountant, who could do nothing to save Samuel’s life or provide medical attention if that had been required.
“First him and now you,” Remmie shouted and grabbed Tom by the scruff of the neck. He yanked Tom’s head back and held an ugly blade to his exposed skin. Remmie slid the cold steel across his prisoner’s throat. His eyes were wide and black, like that of a mentally diseased killer and showed zero remorse for executing Samuel. “You’re now involved,” Remmie said with a thick Russian voice. “I’ll be a part of your life for the next twenty‑four hours. Do you get the message, Bronze?” He lowered the blade from Tom’s exposed Adam’s apple and stashed the weapon in his jacket.
“You won’t be successful; the authorities will stop you,” Tom warned them.
Remmie laughed artificially. “The United States has led the world in military might for many decades,” Remmie said with a smug mouth. “Now it’s not about controlling the world but about controlling this technology.” Remmie calmed down--just a bit. “Our mission will be completed tomorrow night. Once our program is reactivated and weapon hardware is transferred, I’ll give you your life back.”
“Is that a promise?” Tom shouted.
“No,” Remmie replied in anger, “I never promise anything to anyone.” He appeared even more fearful. “The program has to be reloaded into the Carravecky main research computer system so once this task is completed, only then will you be safe from me; and, of course, we will be able to once again access their satellite system.” His flaring temper receded. “Now, listen carefully. Carravecky is planning to move the skid by secure transport and deliver it to the American Government on Saturday to be shelved. That's what our network intelligence has uncovered, but we believe that’s not their intentions.” Remmie strengthened his stance. “Friday night will be the last time the missile carrier will be tested in the sky for the U.S. Military. If you botch up this mission, you’ll rot in a prison cell for the rest of your pitiful life for the murder of Carravecky’s youngest son. I’ll see to that.”
“If Samuel couldn’t gain access to the main computers, what makes you believe I can?” Tom said sarcastically.
Remmie was in no mood to play or to be humoured by Bronze on the details of gaining access into Carravecky’s system. He pulled the gun from his belt; and in one sudden motion, spun the cylinder and jammed the barrel against Tom’s cheekbone. Remmie triggered the gun at Tom’s eye.
Tom didn’t even have time to pee his pants, yet totally fearless against death.
The commander grinned with pleasure; then opened the chamber. He emptied the chamber except for one live round. “The only thing I want you to do is correct this matter.
“You and your goons go to hell.”
“If you agree, you will live for, at least another twenty-four hours.”
“No, I can’t do it. It’s impossible, beyond my moral beliefs,” Tom replied like he wanted no part of Remmie’s unhealthy spy adventure.
“It’s your life. It makes no difference if you die now or later.” Remmie spun the chamber and continued. “For every bullet you escape, I add one. Don’t think you’ll escape my demands,” as he pressed the barrel to Tom’s forehead. “Any last words before you die?”
“Killing me doesn’t solve anything,” Tom grunted.
“Then it is pointless to play games,” as he lowered the gun. “Maybe this will convince you,” as he reloaded all the chambers. “We’re on a tight schedule; what’s your decision?”
Tom just eyed the soldiers.
“I would say the odds of avoiding death are highly stacked against you--six chambers, six live rounds, one attempt to escape death. I will give you five seconds to decide” as he began to count.
“Okay, I’ll do it; put the gun away, I’ll do whatever you want; just back off and let me breath,” Tom snapped, and surrendered to Remmie’s terrorist cause.
“Now that we have a binding agreement, I expect success from you,” Remmie said. He motioned to his soldiers to release the prisoner. “Now, Bronze, stand still and don’t run away.”
A long, black limo pulled into the dark alleyway, and a soldier-type got out of the driver’s seat and waited for the order to transport them from the crime scene.
“Bronze, get in,” Remmie commanded.
Tom sat crammed between the two meaty soldiers. They were watching his every itch. Remmie sat directly across from the three of them.
Remmie leaned back and eyed his corrupted guest. “Do you love your country?” he inquired.
Tom looked at each of the soldiers; he was buying a few seconds. The one on the right of him pulled a throwing knife from his vest and began to inspect the blade. Tom watched the soldier slide the steel slowly across the soapstone as he sat in silence.
“Killing for a worldly purpose is an honourable business,” Remmie continued--“just like accounting is an honourable profession. You have to take the good jobs with the bad. Two years ago, the ISN...”
“What’s that--a private club for people like you?” Tom verbally jabbed at the terrorist.
Remmie smiled with a controlled anger. “The International Security Network was called in, and my team and I got involved in this corporate dilemma. It’s not that we’re out to steal these weapons, or to use them to tilt world power in our favour. We want to insure that these weapons never fall into the wrong hands.”
“I don’t believe any of your bullshit,” Tom admitted.
“It’s not for you to believe or disbelieve; the truth is the truth. If this happens, we’re all history. This is why I ask if you love your country?”
Tom sat and listened. That was all he could do.
“Samuel was the rotten apple in the basket. He brokered an insane deal with another organization to sell the system to them at a bargain price. For starters, it wasn’t his investment to sell. It was him or you.”
“Your voice is making me want to vomit. Tell me before I get sick on your boots what it is I have to do?” Tom asked as if he didn’t have an ounce of respect for the ruthless terrorist.
Remmie leaned forward and pulled a small flat box from his jacket pocket and held it in the palm of his hand; he lifted off the top and revealed its digital content.
“What--a solid state data stick?” Tom snapped.
“It’s not just a stick; it’s a data hound,” Remmie replied. “The security in the complex has been enhanced since a device of similar nature was last used. Now you’re the only one who’ll have an opportunity to get inside the complex. This woman you work for, Celia McBridle, she’ll be leaving for a meeting at Carravecky’s Friday morning. This is our last opportunity to reload the hound into the main research and development computers. Friday night they’ll be transferring the data into the system, and our reactivated program will be among the loaded code. Once this happens and you’ve done your part, you’re free from any further obligations to us.” Remmie tapped on the glass barrier behind him and signalled the driver to pull over. “If you keep your mouth shut, no one will ever know your involvement in any of our dismal fun and games.”
The limo stopped on the shoulder of the road. Remmie replaced the protective box lid and passed the sealed unit to Tom. “You’ll have one chance; don’t screw it up,” he said; and he opened the door. “Now, Bronze, get out.”
Tom stepped out of the limo and held open the door. He hoped this would be the last time he saw any of them, especially Mr. Take; but he had a gut-wrenching feeling that they would soon meet again.
; “Bronze, take this;” he extended his fisted hand. “It’ll help you to find your way,” and reassured the accountant with a nod of confidence.
He received the folded piece of paper from Remmie’s control and stuffed it into his pants pocket along with the small flat box.
The limo door slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away into traffic.
Tom walked a couple miles back to the street in the loading zone. In that time he thought about every miserable thing that had happened tonight.
When he arrived at McBridle’s vehicle, he realized the damage was far more extensive than what he had originally thought. “Holly shit-water, this doesn’t look good. McBridle’s going to fire me headfirst out the bedroom window over this warped mistake,” he moaned with a cleansed sense of relief.
Then he unlocked the vehicle and pried open the door. When he was about to dive into the driver’s seat, he noticed a parking ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. “Damn, that’s all I need for a goodnight kick in the pants,” he cried silently. He pulled out the parking violation from beneath the blade and stuffed it into his pocket.
He twisted the key, and he was on his way again.