Chardin nodded. “We are all murderous bastards are we not?”
“None of us here ever contemplated strapping a bomb on a ten-year-old kid to blow a bunch of innocent bystanders to kingdom come, Claude,” Lucas replied.
“I have not enough time on earth to seek redemption. I have only my own child to protect. Quadir works almost exclusively for the Iranians. My negligence at some point while working with him exposed my daughter just as happened on this very boat. Your plan is a good one. Will you be able to question him, Harding?”
“I wish. As much as I’d love to take him out into the desert for a question and answer period, we can’t take any chances.”
“I can only pray then that he has not revealed my daughter’s name to the Iranians and he is holding it back. Otherwise they will send another.”
There’s a happy thought, Chardin praying, and a replacement assassin if Quadir fails.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Final Sanctions
By the time we reached Dubai we were some salty looking dudes. We cleaned up and changed at a safe house where clothing had been placed in advance. A limousine picked us up and took us to the Hilton Dubai Creek Hotel. The rooms we had were adjacent to Quadir’s reservation for two rooms so that no matter which one he slept in, we would have a room next door. We spoke nothing but Arabic while checking in, matching our Saudi passport identities.
Denny had assets working at the Hilton. When Quadir and his mates checked in Lucas and Chardin were there. Recognizing Quadir, Chardin snapped a picture and sent it up to us. Casey stayed out in the hallway as if waiting impatiently for some sort of service after studying the picture Chardin relayed to us. Dressed in full flowing robes and his skin darkened, Casey could not be recognized even if Quadir knew who to look for. He exchanged Arabic greetings with Quadir and his crew as the former entered the room to Casey’s left with one of his associates, while the other two entered the room on his right.
We had already drilled tiny holes at floor level under where the nightstand stood next to the bed. The tank with knockout gas had been brought up by Chardin, who pretended it to be an oxygen tank he had tubes from to his nose. No one questioned it because of his already frail condition and canes. Only the wait remained. Quadir and his crew partied hard until three in the morning, gambling and drinking like good followers of the religion of peace. Luckily, they had too much to drink and decided to return to their rooms without company. We waited until only the sounds of sleep assaulted our ears from the audio pickup we had pointed at their room. An hour of the gas and it was show-time.
Casey had already fixed me up with key-cards for both rooms. I went in low and silent, avoiding security cameras we’d mapped out prior to their arrival. I slipped on a gas mask and checked the Iranian bodyguard before advancing on Quadir. I pulled up the bedclothes near his feet. Watching him carefully, I pulled his left foot over clear of the bed and covers, thinking Stan would finally get some closure on this son of a bitch. I injected the death syringe into a spot between ‘this little piggy went to market and this little piggy went home’. I kept pressure on the spot until the heart no longer pumped blood. I positioned his foot back under the covers before opening their sliding door leading to an outside veranda. Waiting next to the Iranian guard for a half hour and using an electronic sensor to test the clearing air was the last step before closing the veranda door and exiting the room.
Staying inside our rooms for the next day, we waited through the harried noise and confusion when the guard figured out no amount of shaking would bring Quadir back from hell. Shortly after the body was removed the Iranian guards left. As Chardin had figured Quadir played his contracts close to the vest. His men had no idea yet who the target was or who to contact for information. They had none of the money collected for the hit.Without the man responsible for planning, the guards realized they were out of options. We checked out a day after they left and returned to the safe-house where I donned western clothes and shaved my beard. The others kept their disguises. Denny confirmed the authorities ruled it a death by natural causes. He gave me the flight times for meeting the guys coming in the next day for the fight and we relaxed. It was then Chardin made the appeal I figured was coming. He wanted out.
“I wish only to move near my daughter and wife. It might even be possible to reconcile with my wife. I could be of further use in the future at your whim. I would then be able to protect them if any follow up is ordered once Quadir’s bosses find out he’s dead. Is such a thing possible?”
“If it is, Denny will make it happen, Claude,” Lucas replied, smirking over at Casey and me. As I said we’d been waiting for this. “If Satan himself blew into town with a security secret, Denny would have him in a Montecito villa at a moment’s notice.”
“What about you, Harding?”
“Never mind about, John,” Casey said. “You may never walk right again because John here doesn’t take chances. Like he said at the time – professional courtesy. If you do make a deal with Denny, know this – your family’s wellbeing will be tied to his. If John gets the flu and croaks so will you and your loved ones. That means if you get wind of anything from your contacts, we expect you to act like we are all brothers, understand?”
Chardin grinned. “I understand. I will be a good brother.”
Lucas shook his head slowly in the negative. “No, you’ll be that no good cocksucker of a brother no one wants to have around on the holidays.”
Even Chardin laughed.
* * *
The next day we said our goodbyes before I left for the airport. Lucas, Casey, and Chardin would be leaving via the same Saudi route we entered the country by.
“I wish we could see the fight, partner,” Casey said. “From what I hear, it’ll be a great one.”
“I’m going for a short one, Case.”
“We’ll have the Wolf prepped for a celebration cruise when you get back, brother,” Lucas added.
Chardin stuck out his hand. I shook it with only a split second hesitation. “Perhaps you will invite my family and I on board some time. Good luck.”
Yeah, that’ll happen – start doing voyages with one of the most dangerous assassins on the planet who I maimed. “Thanks, Claude. Stay out of trouble and be valuable for Denny. I rode it out with you on this gig and I have no complaints.”
I started out the door for the waiting limousine, but Casey called out to me before I made it through the doorway. “Hey John, want us to off Rankin if he kills you in the cage?”
I laughed along with them as I turned, but damn if that didn’t sound like a plan. “Let me get back to you on that.”
More laughter with Casey holding his hand up to his head like he was answering the phone while miming ‘call me’ on my way out the door.
* * *
At the airport I stayed out of sight until my crew made it through customs. After they cleared with all our equipment on a porter’s trolley I joined them.
“Hi guys. That’s our limo to your left.”
Yep, it surprised them alright. Jafar hugged me. I began to suspect these guys were making way too many imaginative leaps in theorizing what I was up to.
“I’m glad to see you too, kid, but I don’t hug on the first date.”
Jafar remembered where he was and who he was with as the other guys shared a laugh at his expense. “We thought… you know… we’d get here and you’d never show.”
I nodded my understanding while shaking hands with Tommy, Dev, and Jesse. “I get that. Let’s move. I’d rather this be more a matter of my just arriving with you guys.”
“It helped having Jafar with us at customs,” Dev said as we walked toward the limo. My driver got out and opened the cargo area. “Jess and I haven’t been in the sand for quite a while. We had mixed feelings about flyin’ into this area.”
“Yeah, John,” Jess agreed, “you’ll owe us some weekends on your new yacht. Step up and let a brother cruise. What’s he call that thing, T?”
“The Un
grateful White Bread, I think.”
I could tell they were relieved to see me and I was going to pay for it. They loved the Marriott Hotel rooms I booked for them. Yeah, I ain’t stupid enough to stay at the Hilton. Everyone had separate rooms. I gave Jafar the good news I’d talked Samira’s old man into bringing her to the states in April. Since jet lag had my friends in a haze I left them alone for twenty-four hours while I hit the Marriott’s fitness room and pool, swimming power laps until my arms and legs felt like lead. I had a plan for my old friend Rankin. If I could survive some of his bombs and takedowns, I had a little trap in store for him.
After my crew recovered, we worked out in my suite on standup, picking my shots, power kicks, and most importantly: endurance. While Jafar, Jesse, and Dev circled me with pads, Tommy took shots at me from everywhere. It was vicious, nonstop monotony until I struck without thought while guarding without hesitation. At midnight when the hotel’s guests hit the night life circuit, we bought permission to use the fitness center in a special way. I had noticed from watching our YouTube video over and over that Rankin got careless in one aspect of his ground and pound: he was so used to bludgeoning his opponents, he dropped too far down in his mount.
With Jess and Dev taking turns attacking from full mount, I worked on every tiny opening to work my triangle choke from guard. It was hell for all of us, especially with Tommy and Jafar kicking my legs free from my choke endeavor whenever I moved too slowly. Three days of intensity I had no doubt Rankin was mirroring at the UFC facilities we were supposed to train at. We began getting complaints about our not training on premises on our third day together in country. By then even Tommy was impressed with my plan. My two mat partners could not stay out of my triangle choke for more than forty-five seconds even with Tommy and Jafar beating on me. We went to the UFC facilities finally to train in front of the crowd, but we did nothing but basic kicks, punches, and sparring.
Rankin worked out there with the same relentless rage he fought every fight with. Jess and Dev remarked more than once they were glad they weren’t Rankin’s sparring partners. I watched him like he watched me. Rankin had a plan. I was certain of that. He avoided any confrontation with me, making sure his handlers acted as a buffer zone if we even had to pass by each other. Yep, not the same Van Rankin. One thing I could tell – except for some permanent scarring on his face, he looked impressive in every way. Since my plan hinged on a couple rounds of hell on earth before I attempted what I had planned, I was in for some pain. Then again, I planned to dish out some pain too. Who knows, I might even get a lucky shot in earlier… or he might.
The weigh-in was a zoo. We stripped down one at a time for the cameras. Rankin and I towered over most others around us so the crowd watching the weigh-in made a lot of noise. When it came time for us to pose in fighting stances, Rankin nearly lost his cool. He wanted me so bad, drool dripped from the snarl he gave me. His arms looked like it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep from launching them. I smiled the whole time. Tommy, Jafar, Dev and Jess flanked me. If anything started, I would back the hell out while they acted as a buffer zone. We had too much riding on this for a mistake. To Rankin’s credit, he kept his big mouth shut. I pulled my ace out just as the pictures ended.
“Hey Van, how’s the nose?”
I turned quickly, jumping around with my hands up in the air while Rankin’s trainers held on to him for dear life. My crew walled me off from him until the officials stepped in to end my little gem of an act. It was then I caught sight of Alexi Fiialkov near the front. He was smiling and shaking his finger at me in a cautionary way. I waved and shrugged. It didn’t matter if his fighter maimed me, Alexi was okay in my strange book of life. He kept his word. My team expressed their unhappiness with the way I decided to handle the weigh-in on the way back to our rooms.
“I saw some of the big names in UFC checking Rankin out and I saw fear. Did you have to poke the bear, John… really?” Tommy’s remark through gritted teeth as he spoke burst the damn.
“That prick looks like Godzilla,” Jesse added. “I was startin’ to feel good about your chances until I saw him up close. Damn! He brushed against me near the scale and tore my shirt and bruised the skin. Now you went and made him mad. Are you mental?”
Devon sighed. “Might as well do the Dark Lord for him in the cage, you psycho. If you’re lucky, you’ll survive with a colostomy bag and breathing through a tube. If you don’t survive where do you want your ashes scattered?”
I was enjoying this to no end. “It’s all in the plan, guys. I appreciate the confidence you all have in me. Hey, Jafar, you’re pretty quiet.”
Jafar whipped his hand up to the side of his face in a classic shun. “You are dead to me.”
* * *
Rankin and I were on the bottom of the dance card as two nobodies in UFC deserve. We fought first. The arena was filled to capacity though without an empty seat I could see from where I awaited my cue. My intro music played and we started forward through the roaring crowd with Jesse in the lead, Tommy and Dev flanking me, and Jafar in back. I picked the Marine’s Hymn to piss off any of the clowns who paid Quadir in advance to kill me after the fight ended. We must have had a good number of Americans in the crowd because I really got a roar of approval for that. Once inside the cage I loosened up and went over my game plan internally until Rankin got announced.
He had picked Black Sabbath’s ‘I Am Ironman’. Rankin stomped down the aisle toward the cage with every beat, his fists hammering forward in rhythm. Timed perfectly, Rankin stalked into the cage at Black Sabbath’s declaration ‘I Am Ironman’. Even I got chills. I turned to Tommy and then I saw her. Lora waved from a front row seat next to Alexi Fiialkov. Oh my God, she looked good. Black off the shoulder dress, black heels, and red hair tied back at the neck. I waved like a thirteen-year-old at his first dance. Rankin and fight plans temporarily left the building. Tommy slapped me in the back of the head with attitude. He jammed his face two inches away from mine. He wasn’t smilin’.
“Hello, Dark Lord? Get your fuckin’ head in the game!”
I saw Alexi give me a finger wave. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with a plan. When I turned to face Rankin he was pointing at Lora, blowing her kisses. The moment he knew I was watching, he turned and gave me the full death-ray eye stare. That’s the trouble with cheap, no account, blowhard punks. They don’t know it’s best not to play with killers.
I closed my eyes. In a spit second my mind’s eye had me standing in that Leavittsburg, Ohio hovel, watchin’ Pa circlin’ me with belt in hand while the rain pounded down outside. I could smell the Mahoning River slime that saturated the house. I could smell his rage. I smelled desperation. Oh mama, I’m home again. I opened my eyes. Rankin grinned. No matter how this turned out, I would make sure he wasn’t grinning when it ended. The referee motioned us to the center. I have no idea what he said when Rankin and I stared into each other’s eyes. I backed to my cage position when he stopped speaking. We didn’t touch gloves.
Rankin moved forward in control. He shot out lightning bolts with both arms and feet. Every strike hurt and it was good. I played the Karate Kid for forty seconds, blocking, bobbing, ducking, and measuring. For all of that nearly first minute, Rankin tuned me up for the crowd’s pleasure. When my left leg strike smashed into the inside of his extended left knee, it wasn’t nearly as pretty as his full bore attack, but oh baby did he feel that one. His eyes widened while he launched a flurry. A left hook caught me, and even pulling away from the punch couldn’t keep me on my feet.
I flailed around as he dove into full mount on the attack. Suddenly, the deafening crowd noise faded. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I absorbed the elbows, blocked a few, and managed a locked leg full guard. Rankin picked me up enough to slam me into the cage with my head down. Before he could tie me up with his left and hammer fist me into oblivion, I slipped my left leg out of locked full guard and around Rankin’s right leg, while trapping his left wrist under us as I
rolled. He couldn’t stop my roll but threw himself backwards to prevent the reversal. We both leaped to our feet with the crowd roaring for blood. I blinked it out of my eyes as the buzzer sounded.
My team worked me over without comment until they staunched the flow of blood from the elbow lacerations on my head, washed off my mouth-guard, and cooled me with wet towels. I smiled while looking across at Rankin massaging his left knee. His guys applied ice but ain’t no amount of ice would make that puppy feel better.
“Nice knee shot, John,” Jess said. “Can you smash it again?”
I gulped a swallow of water from the bottle Jafar held for me, tasting blood. “I’ll get right on that, Jess, thanks.”
Jess chuckled but I got no other amused reactions from my other crewmembers.
“How’s your plan workin’, Ace?” Tommy asked.
“Five by five, brother. Five by five.” I started to turn my head to catch a glimpse of Lora only to absorb another head slap from Tommy.
“You eyeball your wife one more time and I’ll bitch slap you right in front of this whole fuckin’ crowd!”
I nodded as he jammed my mouthpiece back in. “Ten-four, T.”
“His left drops when he throws his right, John,” Dev said as the buzzer sounded.
Damn! Maybe I didn’t notice it because I was in la la land from the left hook. Rankin clocked me with a right in the first few seconds of the second round and followed with a roundhouse left leg strike that cracked a rib. Uh oh. Rankin heard it and came in with murder in his eyes. In a flash I was down in full guard blocking elbows. I lucked out with an inside left as Rankin drew back to strike, smacking into his nose. He immediately went into a hug for a moment which told me Mr. Nose was not happy with my attention.
I did double strikes under his rib cage until he popped out of the hug. Mr. Nose took an immediate right hand shot, because Rankin didn’t figure I’d be quick enough to slip under and up quick enough. When he flinched back, I locked his right leg and rolled him, missed an arm bar by a split second, and kept going to my feet. Rankin confidently threw leg strikes for my cracked rib, but another leg strike to his inside left knee nearly buckled it. He threw the right when I feinted for another left leg strike. His left hand dropped and I popped Mr. Nose with a straight right hand. The new nose job gave and blood spattered down his front. When he covered up I smashed his inside left knee again. Rankin dropped with a grunt of pain. The round ended before I could drop kick his head into next week.
Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books) Page 29