by C. G. Cooper
“If you’re jumping in, better to see what you’re jumping into,” he said matter-of-factly. It was the last thing he said until we passed over the island. “That’s it down there,” he said unnecessarily. The star shaped fort at the mouth of the harbor was hard to miss.
We made a long turn out to sea and then swung back in to shore. The next pass was lower, and when I looked down at the fort through high power binoculars, I saw a white tent in the middle of the fort’s green parade ground.
There were people bustling around, but I couldn’t make out anything except for the color of their clothing. The next thing I saw were the two man teams roaming around the perimeter of the island. They were wearing dark uniforms and kept even spacing as they moved. I counted at least five teams of two. Those were the ones who were visible. There could be more inside the fort or inside the gift and snack shop buildings.
By the time the island faded from view, the sun was sinking in front of us, the last rays of magenta saying goodbye over the horizon. A couple more minutes, and the pilot turned north. I felt the airplane gaining altitude and nudged Rex to check my gear one last time. We were cramped in the back with our chutes and weapons, and the jump out would be tricky, but at least we’d be going in under the cover of night. I had the general layout of the island in my head, and a map printout in my pocket, but that wouldn’t help us a bit if one of those roving patrols saw us dropping in. We’d be easy targets.
“You’re good,” Rex said. He grinned like in the old days. “Into harm’s way we go once again.”
His cheesy accent sounded even cheesier in my headset. I shook my head and returned the grin. It was a strange feeling having someone next to me again as you dove into the maw of the enemy. It was different, but not unwanted. Maybe I would come out of it in one piece. And then again, maybe it would all be left to a flip of fate’s coin.
+++
The clicks of Natasha’s heels echoed in the dim corridor. She left the arriving guests to Joe’s men, the ones who would escort the VIPs to the parade ground and the elegant tables the caterer had arranged earlier. The wine was chilled and the bar well-stocked. They would not need waiters or chefs. Everything was ready.
Natasha wrapped the sable coat tight around her body. Her evening dress did little to fend off the creeping cold and the subtle dampness of the fort’s tunnels.
When she arrived at the thick cell door, Natasha ordered the lone guard to unlock it. He complied and stepped aside.
Someone had left a sputtering butane lamp in the corner. Its dancing flames illuminated the figure sitting against the far wall. Ed Walker’s face looked up as she entered, his eyes cold and steady.
“You look like shit, Eddie.”
He didn’t answer.
“I came to ask you to wish me luck.”
Still no answer from her ex-husband.
“Oh, come on, Eddie. I won fair and square.”
“This isn’t a game, Natasha,” he growled, shifting his handcuffed wrists in his lap.
Natasha shrugged. It was all a game.
“We could’ve been something, Eddie.”
He shook his head and looked away.
“You don’t deserve me,” he said. This time his voice was strained.
Natasha laughed. How things had changed. She really had loved him, even after he’d left with Anna. It was the treasure of first love. The first years had been tough. Time made it easier, and yet, there were days she still longed for his touch. Strange. Another weakness.
She stared at him, remembering the good times they’d had, sighing at the memories.
“Well, it’s time to go,” she said, moving closer, smelling the sweat and tart body odor seeping from her ex. His hands and feet were cuffed and shackled to one another. She made sure of that with a tug, eliciting a wince from the fallen pastor. Natasha bent down and looked into his eyes. “Good night, Eddie.” She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He did not pull away.
“Ms. Varushkin,” the guard interrupted, “Joe says the last of the guests have arrived.”
Natasha slipped back from her former lover, and gave him a pat on the cheek.
“I have to go,” she said, receiving no reply from the condemned man. She smiled sadly and turned to leave.
The guard locked the door, but before he could go back to his boring post, he felt a hand on his forehead and then something cold on his neck. The blade bit and his body stiffened. One hand went for the blade and the other tried to grab whoever was behind him. It was too late.
With experience born of practice, Natasha’s cut was deep and perfect. By the time she’d grabbed the pistol from the man’s holster and tossed it down the corridor, the man was gurgling blood and writhing on the ground like a beached fish.
Careful to avoid the spurting blood, Natasha grabbed the keys from where the guard had dropped them on the floor, and unlocked the cell door. She pulled it open three inches and left it and the keys where they were.
Happy with her handiwork, the heir to the Varushkin fortune looked around one last time and headed to her dinner party. She was, after all, host of the momentous event.
Chapter 33
“One minute,” the pilot said over the headset.
Rex and I each gave him a thumbs-up. The next part would be a little tricky. Instead of jumping out of the side doors, we were going to use the ingenious upgrade under our feet. Once the seats were folded back, there was a button in the cockpit that triggered a hydraulic ramp which served as the bottom of the aircraft. Once fully opened, we would ease our way into the opening and drop. That was the theory at least.
The only drops I’d ever made were out of big cargo planes made for dropping parachutists out the back. I imagined getting sucked out of the bottom of the aircraft when the pilot pressed the button. That didn’t happen.
First the red light next to my head flickered on, signaling that the ramp was about to open. It struggled against the air current, the plane’s aerodynamic stream suddenly changing. When it was all the way open, Rex grinned and pointed. He was waiting for me to go first.
I looked at the opening dubiously, wondering if I could get my frame and the chute through the space. The last thing I needed was to get caught on something and be left dangling out into nothingness.
As the old military saying goes, slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I eased my way into the hole, propping my weight on my forearm. The buffeting wind caught my legs and I counted to three in my head. As I pushed myself off like a diver going down a port hole, I felt a dreaded snag, but a split second later, it was gone.
I flipped around and got my bearing, the compass and GPS mounted on my wrist already calculating my arrival. A couple seconds later, I heard three clicks in my earpiece. Rex was safely away.
We fell toward Georges Island, silent as diving cranes. With any luck, we’d step onto Ft. Warren with a measure of the same stealth.
+++
“Drop confirmed,” Julian Fog heard over the radio. He was twenty feet under water, the dark Boston Harbor obscuring his view as he swam point, three volunteers behind him. Fog focused on his own compass, pushing away the feeling he always got when diving at night. It was like swimming through ink. You could see your compass and not much else. If you didn’t trust your equipment, it was easy to get turned around and even swim straight to the bottom. Night diving was all about monitoring your depth, calculating your course and distance, and controlling your breathing.
They were going up against a superior force, but Fog had every confidence in his men. Daniel and Rex could handle themselves. Hell, Snake Eyes was a one man army. During his time in the fleet, Fog had been privy to most of Sgt. Briggs’s operations. The Marine had seen more than most and had somehow come out unscathed each and every time. There had been a running joke in the battalion at the time. Got a fucked up op that only Rambo can handle? Dial in Snake Eyes. Only thing was, it wasn’t a joke. Daniel went about his job with quiet efficiency. He never made waves and never compl
ained.
As he shifted his course a bit to the east, Fog wondered if the former sniper was still every bit as lethal as he had been.
+++
Natasha Varushkin stood at the head of the lavish table. All eyes watched as she raised a glass of chardonnay.
“To The Pension,” she began. “May it be the beginning of something extraordinary for our people.”
There was a murmur of assent from her guests. Nineteen in all, they’d come from up and down the eastern seaboard. They were all over sixty-years-old, men of might and industry. They’d met over the last half century, mentored like her father as they rose through the ranks of the Soviet and Russian military, up the ladders of Russian corporations, and down the slippery slopes of government service.
What these men represented was not only the future of Russia, but its past as well. Like a living time capsule, these men had been trusted by others to plant the seed for the future. And what a seed they now grew. Not only were billions of dollars waiting in bank accounts across the globe, there were also the untold contacts these men had cultivated over their esteemed careers.
Some she had just met and others she knew through her father. They were secretive men, used to trusting no one as they lived their double lives. How they’d all arrived in America, she did not know. The important thing was that they were here now. It was her job to persuade them to take the next step.
“My father sends his best wishes,” she continued, still standing as she looked up and down each side of the table. There was doubt in some eyes. Others masked their feelings and just stared with what she saw as mild interest. She would get their attention soon.
“Where is Georgy?” a man at the opposite end of the gathering asked.
“The injuries and infections my father endured during his imprisonment have led to certain complications. He is under twenty-four-hour watch by a team of physicians and promises to see you all soon.” She heard grumbles from a few feet away but ignored them. “Now, I would like to tell you about the current state of The Pension, and what our combined assets will soon accomplish.”
Chapter 34
As planned, I pulled my main chute at 3,000 feet. I waited for the telltale yank behind me, already bracing for it, but I felt nothing. Warning bells went off in my head as I went through the emergency routine, my body still falling at 115 miles per hour.
The next pull elicited a response, but not the one I wanted. I felt something flapping against the back of my head. My partially deployed chute inched out as I fell closer to the earth.
At 2,000 feet I ditched my main chute. The breakaway was clean and I kept falling. I could hear Rex’s voice in my ear, but I couldn’t answer as I struggled to deploy my reserve chute. It felt like it was caught. 1,500 feet. I yanked again. Still nothing.
920 feet, my altimeter said helpfully. I imagined it mocking me.
Finally, as I passed 750 feet, the ring moved, and my reserve chute deployed. This time I did feel the familiar tug from behind, and then I was slowing. I could now see the fort clearly, the lights from the festivities not far away. I took in a deep breath and glanced at my altimeter again. 300 feet. Fuck, I thought, reaching up to cue the radio and let Rex know I wasn’t dead. My hand never got there.
All of a sudden, my left shoulder dipped and I heard a flutter overhead. What started as a left hand turn, soon turned into violent spinning. I tried to right my descent, but I got zero response from my handles.
180 feet.
The spinning got faster and I couldn’t see my altimeter through my blurring vision. I was either going to be thrown or slammed. Neither option sounded promising. Instead of taking the ride down with the chute, I pulled my release, and hurtled down toward the coastline.
+++
The two guards stopped at the sound of the splash. “What the hell was that?” the first one said, pulling out his oversized flashlight and shining it off the southern point of Georges Island.
“I better radio it in,” said the second guard, already reaching for his mike.
“Hold on. Joe will have our ass if it’s just a fish.”
“That would’ve been one huge goddamn fish.”
“Maybe a shark or dolphin then,” said the first man, scanning the water. Then, as if in answer, something floated into view just outside the high-power beam. The two men stared as they walked closer. It looked like a ghost settled in over the water.
“Is that a—?”
Guard number two never got the rest of the question out. A burst of silenced rounds hit him in the back of the head. The first guard dropped the flashlight and did his best dive to the right. The rounds followed his rolling form, caught him in the leg and traveled up to his neck. His evasion was over.
+++
Rex flared his chute and executed a textbook landing, touching down right between the two fallen guards. After checking to make sure the men he’d shot were dead, he stowed the used chute and radioed for Daniel.
No answer.
He hadn’t seen the sniper since he’d fallen from the plane, but he had caught the tail end of the conversation between the guards. Daniel had gone into the water.
Rex crept his way down to the water, his night vision goggles scanning the lapping harbor. Nothing.
Rex waded into the water up to his waist, still searching. No sound. No sign of Daniel.
“Echo Three, this is Six. Snake Eyes is down. I repeat, Snake Eyes is down.”
+++
Natasha had already pinpointed the men who were going to be the problems. They sat with their arms crossed, refusing to touch their food or their drinks, like a coordinated hunger strike.
So as she described the thousand acre ranch in Wyoming, and the multitude of ventures their seed money had already purchased, she eyed the male chauvinists with amusement.
“I can see that some of you would still rather hear this from my father. Believe me when I tell you that I would like the same. But as the old American saying goes, the show must go on.”
A former Russian general sitting halfway down the table whispered to the man sitting next to him. His friend laughed. Natasha continued to ignore them.
“Now, for a little house cleaning.” Heads swiveled back to the head of the table. “As most of you know, when my father first established the group that was to become The Pension, it was deemed necessary to cultivate certain…relationships within the underground communities. These relationships not only allowed some of you to come to America, they also assisted those of us smuggling in goods and currency that were used as a down payment for our initial investments. As time passed, my father wished to legitimize the inner workings of The Pension, and he put in place a plan to remove our organization from ever having to use our less than legal contacts ever again.”
Natasha saw Joe prowling along the edge of the tent, trying to look unobtrusive and professional in his security uniform. She knew he was listening to her every word.
“I would like to announce that as of tonight, The Pension will no longer find it necessary to utilize these illegal contacts. As of tonight, The Pension is no longer bound by the rules that kept us shackled to the shadows for so many years. Tonight, our dream is realized.”
There was polite clapping from most of the table. As she’d expected, Joe was making his way around the table and was soon standing just behind her.
“May I have a word?” he whispered.
Natasha turned as if she’d just realized he was there.
“I’m sorry, Joe. I meant to introduce you.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. They moved from Natasha to the men at the table. She could see the indecision stamped on his face. Her comments about ceasing all illegal activity had struck a nerve. She’d promised him a merger. Joe needed to be seen as a man of power to men like those sitting at the table. Despite his growing influence, Joe was just another thug. He’d worked hard to make it to where he now reigned, but his vanity was an easy trigger to pull.
“Gentlemen, this is J
oe. He is the current leader of one of the underground operations I just mentioned. Joe’s business includes human trafficking and bribery. His friends are some of the very men who imprisoned my father and killed your friends.”
Joe’s face flushed.
“How dare you—”
The automatic weapon in Joe’s hands rose until the front sight post was inches from Natasha’s face. Natasha raised her hands over her head.
“If I misspoke, I am sorry, Joe. If you’d like to tell these men anything I missed—”
“Shut up, bitch.”
“Are you going to shoot me now, Joe?”
The guests looked on, unperturbed by the disturbance. No doubt some of them hoped the man would pull the trigger. Natasha smiled as Joe tried to make a decision.
“If you’re going to shoot me, do you mind if I put on some lipstick first?”
Joe’s lips thinned and Natasha pointed to the table. There was a black Chanel tube laying next to her silverware.
Joe didn’t move to stop her, so Natasha lowered her hands slowly and reached for the lipstick. After twisting off the top and extending the blood red wax, she touched it to her lips.
“Did you like the uniforms, Joe?” she asked.
The mobster’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “I told you to shut up.”
“I was just curious. I had them custom-made, you know. How about the hats? Do you like the hats?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The hats. They’re the most important part.”
“Step over there,” Joe said, motioning outside the tent. Apparently he didn’t want her brains to splatter all over the distinguished guests. How thoughtful.
“I think I’ll stay right here,” Natasha said, even applying the deep red lipstick as his weapon pointed straight at her face.
“Fine. Now say goodbye to your father’s friends,” Joe said, lowering his head to the weapon, as if he really needed to take aim from the short distance.