by J. Manuel
Katerina’s stilettos clicked conspicuously against the marble floor, sending the sound echoing throughout the grand lobby. Jacob’s gate was muted: controlled. He kept close to her as they moved. Katerina instantly attracted the attention of everyone in the bank, especially the men, who responded as if Pavlov had rung a bell. They were soon politely approached by an eager and young, assistant manager who inquired as to how he could be of service on this fine morning. He showed them to a side office on the main floor: his reward for a recent promotion. Now seated, the assistant manager fought hard not to look at Katerina’s breasts which were perfectly framed by the plunging neckline of her rouge blouse. His eyes shot downward self-consciously only to be met by a lithe pair of exposed legs that were posed in such a way that Katerina’s upper-thighs lay invitingly in the shadow of her front-slit midi skirt.
Katerina explained to the eager, young man that she would very much like to access her security deposit box. The young man stood self-consciously, and asked Katerina to join him in the vault. He apologized to Jacob, and informed him that he could not join them as Ms. Minakova was listed as the box’s sole owner. Jacob was about to object but Katerina cut him off. Katerina and the assistant manager disappeared from sight. Jacob knew that he would have to be patient for the next ten minutes. The security deposit safe was inaccessible without raising suspicion. Tim had conducted reconnaissance on the bank several days earlier and had discovered that there was not an inch of the bank that was not constantly monitored by cameras. Jacob tried not to show his concern when five more minutes passed. He scanned the interior of the bank more so to avoid worrying about the time, than to heighten his situational awareness. If anything were to happen, the threat would come from the building’s entrance. Tim was perched in an overwatch position covering the rear entrance of the bank from the rooftop of the adjacent building. Doug and the rest were positioned at various points throughout the route to ensure safe passage. The mental exercise finally calmed him.
Katerina emerged two long minutes later. She thanked the assistant manager and glided away with her handbag secured tightly under her elbow. Jacob met her at the shoulder as the pair exited. They walked a block, until Doug alerted him that they were clear of any followers. He acknowledged, and instructed Doug to pick them up at the next intersection. The pair rejoined the flow of white-collars which provided ideal cover as they quickly hopped into the gray sedan and melted away into Boston traffic.
The sedan steadily made its way through the undulating, nonsensical streets of Boston, the cabin hushed to the din of the outside world. Jacob looked at his watch and confirmed that they were on schedule. He remained silent while the voices from his team continuously updated the route in the imperceptible earbuds that had been custom molded to his ear canals. The earbud itself was made of a carbon-plastic composite that provided resonating and transmitting capabilities without the need of any metal unlike conventional earbuds. They were designed to pick up the subtle vibrations and resonance of the wearer’s vocal chords and sinuses, and transmit those through a specific radio frequency to other synced devices on the same frequency. The fidelity was so true that Jacob still had to assure himself that he was not going crazy when in fact he was just hearing voices in his head. He had been assured that he would become accustomed to the devices soon enough. There was a little part of him that worried about their safety, especially since they used his head as a transmission and receiving antenna, but again he was assured by XPS’ tech-gurus that his worries were unfounded.
Besides making him doubt his sanity from time to time, the earbuds also served as hearing protection. They would actively filter out high-decibel sounds such as gunshots, and allow for communication between team members during live-fire training and in a firefight, if necessary. He had been impressed by their performance at the Roanoke facility’s shoot-houses where they had given him the ability to communicate with his team without having to shout over the din of the gunplay.
“We’re clear up ahead. It looks good for the next mile,” Tim announced.
“How’s our ETA to make the boat?” Jacob asked.
“Fifteen mikes.”
“Roger. Boat’s standing by awaiting your delivery,” Tanner relayed from the docks.
“Good to go. Stay frosty gents we’ll be able to put this one to bed soon.” Jacob let himself relax momentarily. No hitches and no surprises, just how he’d planned. Katerina on the other hand looked more nervous than when they had started the mission. She sat quietly next to him clutching her handbag which she kept away from him, across her body. Jacob offered some calming words, but Katerina’s tense smile betrayed her concern.
Tim’s voice broke the uneasy cabin silence. “Looks like you may have a possible Victor following you about three cars back on your left. It’s a gray sedan. BMW.”
“Roger. I need some info on that vehicle.” Jacob’s heartrate increased quickly.
“Two men driving, shades, collared-shirts, they look like feds. I noticed them a few blocks back. They look like they’ve got comms with someone else but I can’t spot another car.” Tim was behind Jacob’s sedan in a beige Beetle and looked every part the Bostonian college kid. The Beetle was plastered with rainbows, Darwin fish, and meat-is-murder vegan propaganda, so it blended in quite nicely.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just hang back and see how close they get. Everyone else, we’re moving on to Checkpoint Bravo.” Checkpoint Bravo was code for driving around in circles aimlessly like a lost tourist in the twisted streets of the colonial era city.
Jacob turned to Katerina who had remained silent throughout. “Were you expecting to be followed? Any idea who they are?”
Katerina cleared her throat attempting to disguise her worry. “Mr. Harrington, we deal in valuable commodities as you well know. There are many people who would like to steal these commodities in transit. That is why we hired your firm. We have never lost a shipment before, and we do not expect that we will lose this one today.” Katerina sat back against the seat and offered nothing further.
“Looks like they are staying on you so far,” Tim chimed in from the trailing Beetle.
“These guys might be serious Tangos. Get them off our six,” Jacob ordered.
“Roger that.” Tim’s giddiness came through clearly in the earbuds.
Jacob instructed Doug to turn on an adjacent street that took them through Tremont Street’s ritzy shopping thoroughfare. They then turned northwest toward the bustling Northeastern University campus. The pursuing vehicle followed them through the meandering route as the streets began to clutter with a mob of university coeds running to and from classes.
Doug slowed down at a changing yellow light and floored it through the red immediately as it changed. The pursuing vehicle was barricaded by a throng of students. The two passengers within, cursed and radioed their comrades who shadowed them in a white moving van on an adjacent street.
“Dura!” the passenger screamed and glared at the driver who was powerless against the horde of American children. Neither noticed the beige Beetle that pulled up alongside them blaring dance-pop music, until the jubilant young man lowered his windows and began to dance and sing along at the top of his lungs. The driver glared over at the feminine boy who was adorned in a hot-pink shirt, and was wearing a fedora with a peacock feather tucked into the band.
Vladimir gave the boy a look of a thousand deaths.
The boy yelled back at him, “Smile sexy!”
“You gay!” was all that Vladimir could muster in his broken English.
The boy feigned horror and reeled back bringing his delicate hand to his mouth. “Moi? No!” he cried, beamed a smile from ear to ear, and blew the rancorous Russian a big kiss.
Vladimir broke out in a deluge of curses. Yevgeny punched him in the arm to get his attention. The light had turned green and as Vladimir was about to move forward, the boy in the Beetle accelerated out in front of them and cut them off, nearly causing an acci
dent on the crowded street. The boy stuck his hand out of the window and flipped them the bird before peeling away to the thumping rhythms of the Katy Perry tune that clattered from his speakers.
Yevgeny radioed back to the van. “We’ve lost them. Any sign of them?”
“Nyet,” came the terse reply.
“Alright head back to the piers and see if we can find them there. They can’t get on that ship.”
Yevgeny turned to his subordinate who was still fuming. Vladimir was not the tolerant type—most FSB agents weren’t. He’d taken the comical, sexually suggestive exchange personally. He would certainly now spend the rest of the day assuring the other team members that he was not in fact gay. Yevgeny had his doubts about a man who protested too much.
“This is why America is in decline. They’ve gone soft with their homosexual lifestyle. Their men aren’t men and their women are all fat lesbians!” Vladimir was apparently still sore about being turned down by several ladies the night before. American women were not charmed by his brutish advances, so of course they were not interested in men.
Yevgeny shook his head preparing for the neo-conservative, pro-Kremlin sermon that customarily followed any western cultural display that made Vladimir uncomfortable. The truth was that it was this kind of thinking that was causing Russia’s culture collapse and brain drain. Yevgeny remembered the days before the FSB, when he was a young, impressionable KGB operative. They were blaming Western Capitalist propaganda, and of course the Jews back then for all of the Soviet problems, and now Russia’s faults were put on the gays. A damn shame really, gays were always so artsy and colorful. Moscow just wasn’t the same these days. Everything had become increasingly drab and depressing, as if that were actually possible. The dance clubs just seemed less festive with men less likely to take to the dance floor because of the very real fear of being labeled gay. In this respect they were sadly becoming more American. Yes, Russia was indeed losing its soul.
- - - - - - -
After a few minutes of idling in a Northeastern University surface lot, Odin pulled alongside in a small, hybrid yellow-cab and Jacob and Katerina jumped in; Katerina hugged her bag against her chest.
“Get us to that pier ASAP! Something tells me these guys might be on their way there,” Jacob instructed Odin, who looked as if he’d been shoehorned into the driver’s seat.
“Tanner reports that there’s no sign of them at the pier. We’re clear to move.”
Jacob nodded and the hybrid cab sped off with a surprising squeal. Within minutes, they were at the Castle Island shipping port. There was no sign of their pursuers, but only for a moment, before Tim ended their calm.
“I found our tail. They’ve met up with a van carrying four other guys. I can see inside the van and I see some AK rifles in there; new stuff, 74s with some optics on them. They’ve got comm equipment too. These guys look like they’re pros. They’re about three clicks down the road from the pier.”
“Stay on ‘em and keep me posted.” Jacob’s mind was quickly cycling through all of their options, trying to think of every scenario that did not result in them being in a firefight on a bright, sunshiny, Boston morning.
“Okay will do,” Tim replied. “Wait, they’re Oscar Mike now, looks like they’re coming to you.”
There wasn’t much time. Their pursuers were closing in on them. Jacob’s adrenaline was surging, something that he had always been able to control, but now he was having difficulty abating its effects. “Roger. We’ll get our VIP and package aboard, and setup our security as fast as we can. You stay with them and provide overwatch when you arrive.”
“Roger,” Tim replied and immediately began to hunt for perfect ambush points.
Jacob was confident in Tim’s sniping abilities. Tim had not only bested his boot-camp shooting record, but he’d also graduated first in his class at the Marine Corps Scout Sniper School. The quiet hybrid whirred to a stop in front of Pier 17 where the Anastasia was docked. Jacob and Katerina dismounted and jogged down the pier.
“You guys better step on it. We’ve got company,” Doug warned as he sighted in behind his M4. He had joined Odin at the pier’s entrance. Both men took cover behind the engine blocks and wheel wells of their vehicles.
About a mile down the shipyard, two vehicles emerged from behind a row of shipping containers: a white van and a dark BMW. The two vehicles paused momentarily before accelerating toward them. Jacob grabbed Katerina’s arm and pulled her along at a sprint toward the Anastasia. “Hold them off!” he yelled, as he nearly took Katerina off of her feet.
“Are we cleared to fire?” Doug’s voice rang nervously in his ears.
“Only, if they fire first! If they do, light them up. Be goddamned careful with your fire. This is a busy dock.” Jacob couldn’t believe that he had just ordered his team to take part in a firefight in Boston in broad daylight. What the fuck was he doing? Who was Katerina and what the fuck was she carrying? Who were those guys? He fought those questions off and forced himself to concentrate as they reached the bottom of the Anastasia’s gangway. Katerina was winded and unshod.
The two vehicles closed within five hundred meters of Doug and Odin, who stood, taking what little cover they could. Tim was no doubt within the range of his pet M40-A5 sniper rifle and was ready to drop all of the Tangos in quick succession. Jacob reached the top of the gangway with a distressed Katerina, and handed her and her package off to Tanner, who greeted them anxiously. Tanner handed him a rifle. Jacob looked through its three power magnification reflex-scope to get a closer look at the vehicles. The two vehicles came to a sudden stop at around three hundred meters in front of Doug and Odin. The doors opened up almost before they came to a full rest. Six men dismounted. The four who had jumped out of the van were heavily armed with Kalashnikovs while the two in the sedan were holding pistols.
“Steady! Everyone steady! No one is cleared hot! Everyone copy?” Jacob growled to his team.
“Roger,” was the unanimous reply.
Jacob had been in many of these tense standoffs during his tours in Iraq, mostly with local militiamen who were looking to carve out their own section of a godforsaken city. The last thing that anyone needed was for someone to get an itchy trigger-finger and unwittingly unleash a firefight. He just hoped that their pursuers would also share his thinking. The two groups of killers stared at each other, unblinking, each waiting for the other to show the slightest inclination of aggression. Mercifully, there was none. After what seemed like an exasperating eternity, the man that had emerged from the passenger’s side of the sedan motioned to the rest. The men piled back into their vehicles and sped away down the pier toward the dock entrance.
“Jesus Christ! What the fuck was that?!” Doug shouted.
“Easy money,” Tim responded jokingly.
Jacob wouldn’t admit it, but he was shaken. He turned to the still disheveled Katerina, “Well you’re safely aboard and this is where we leave you. So you still have no clue who those guys were?” There was no reply. “Well, bon voyage.” Jacob shook his head and followed Tanner down the gangway to the pier below. Katerina walked along the side of the vessel where she was met by a couple of the ship’s security personnel. His team’s mission was complete, that’s all that he should have cared about, but he had so many questions. John had assured him that he’d only be doing the low-level escort jobs, nothing dangerous, but this had been anything but safe. He was pretty sure that this would be his first and last assignment.
Jacob and his team loaded into their two armored SUVs and drove as planned toward a small, secure airstrip located about an hour south in Plymouth where one of XPS’ small, private jets awaited them. They made the journey, taking great care to ensure that they were not being followed. Though they had not spotted a tail, Jacob was pretty sure that they were under surveillance. The way that their pursuers operated, their movements, their weapons, their obvious command hierarchy, assured him that these men were most likely ex-military contractors much like thems
elves. Tim had heard the driver speak with a heavy, Eastern European accent, possibly Russian. Jacob agreed. It only made sense since their client was Russian and they were most likely escorting jewelry of questionable provenance.
They arrived at the airstrip and boarded the jet. Its engines spooled up as he climbed on the bottom step. The team had bounded up the idling jet’s stairs as Jacob glanced around the tarmac one final time. He felt eyes staring at him from afar. The door had no sooner shut behind him when the pilot disengaged the brakes and max-throttled the little jet. The aluminum alloy and titanium airframe lurched for an instant before being catapulted down the short runway. Jacob held on to the headrest of the nearest seat, steadying himself against the unrelenting force of the sudden acceleration. The nimble jet was a thousand feet off of the ground before he reached his seat and buckled in. He needed a drink. Luckily the on-board bar was fully stocked, though it wouldn’t be for too long.