by Slaton Smith
Sean shot straight up in bed.
Brian, startled, reached for his service weapon, but Sandy was ready; she trained the gun on Brian.
“Officer Ippolito, place the weapon on the floor and kick it over to me,” she ordered with a deadly serious tone. Brian did as he was told. Michelle was in shock and breathing rapidly. Sandy glanced at Sean, who was still groggy.
“A second man is coming through that door in about five seconds. Do not move and you will be OK.” Sandy took up a position behind the door, gun at her side. She could hear Bill running down the hall. He stopped, then entered the room, his Beretta out. He quickly moved into the room and saw Brian, but that was it. He passed by the open door.
He forgot his rule. He had his back to Sandy.
She put the gun to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. The side of his head exploded as he fell to the ground next to Bob. Sandy stepped over the bodies; grabbed Sean’s IV and yanked it free.
“Hi there!” he said, looking up at her. Sandy smiled and pushed him onto his side. The gown fell to the side exposing his bare rear end. Brian started to rise. Sandy raised the gun.
“Brian. You are a good guy. Don’t make me shoot you,” she said. Brian was stunned. How did she know him? Sandy turned to Michelle. She took the scalpel out of her pants and opened the package.
“Come over here.”
Michelle did not respond.
“NOW!”
Michelle hopped up and stumbled. She caught herself on the edge of the bed. Sandy was running her hand over Sean’s backside.
“I know it’s here,” she said. Brian and Michelle were puzzled. Sean was smiling.
“This is more like it!” he said.
“Shut-up!” Sandy snapped. “There. There it is.” She took the scalpel and made a quick incision. Sean grimaced, as she stuck her pinky finger into the cut.
“Ouch! Damn it!” Sean shouted.
“Would you please, shut up!” Sandy said, as she rooted around for about five seconds and produced a small rice-sized tracker, a clever device made of organic material. She pushed it in the palm of her hand with her thumb. She stepped back over the bodies, tossed it in the toilet, flushed it and wiped the blood off her hands with Sean’s sheets.
“Track that.” she said to herself. Glaring at Michelle again, Sandy reached into her pocket and threw the suture kit at her.
“Michelle! Sew up his ass!” Michelle robotically stitched up Sean. Sandy removed the Russian knife from her pocket and cut the ties to Sean’s gown. It fell to the ground. She retrieved both bags from the hall, placing the duffel on the bed. She took out a pair of old Vasque hiking boots, a pair of jeans, and a long sleeve Henley and tossed them at Sean who was now standing naked in the middle of the room.
“Hey! That’s my stuff! My old boots!” he exclaimed looking at the boots. Sandy had snatched the clothes weeks ago.
“Get dressed. We don’t have much time,” she ordered. Outside, an incoming LifeFlight helicopter rattled the windows. Sean had finished dressing.
As Sandy approached Sean she pulled off the brown wig. Her blonde hair tumbled out. Michelle instantly recognized her from the game. Brian thought she looked like she had just jumped out of a surfing magazine. Blonde. Athletic. Tan. Brian would have thought she was attractive if she didn’t scare the hell out of him.
Sandy grabbed Sean by his shirt and pulled him towards her and kissed him deeply. Sean put his hand on the small of her back. She still had the gun in her right hand.
Michelle and Brian were surprised. It was quite a kiss.
“I know you!” Sean said. She put the gun back in her waistband.
“I was hoping you were going to say that.” Sandy smiled as she zipped up the duffel. She did not give Sean a gun. Not yet. She turned her attention to Brian and Michelle.
“Sean, cuff them both to the chair.” Sean frowned at Sandy.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Brian already had his cuffs in his hand. He didn’t want any trouble from Sandy. He knew she wasn’t someone to screw with. Sean cuffed Brian’s wrist, ran the handcuffs under the arm of the chair and cuffed Michelle to the other end.
“Sorry buddy,” Sean apologized. His head still throbbed, but otherwise he felt fine. He had no idea how lucky he was. The blood from the two Marines was running towards the windows. Michelle pulled her feet up into the chair to avoid the gore that was oozing towards her.
“Let’s go Sean. We are getting out of here.”
“How? You going to double me on your bike?” he chuckled. She glared at him.
“No, you are going to fly that LifeFlight chopper out of here,” she said, pulling the duffel on to her shoulder.
“What?” he sputtered with a mixture of shock and surprise. Sean didn’t know why he was following her, but his gut told him it was what he needed to do. It was clear that the dead men on the floor were there for him - it was no time to ask questions.
Brian struggled to free himself when they left. The gunfire had been heard all over the floor. Lights were on. People were yelling. Police were on the way. Sandy calmly walked towards the elevator with Sean in tow. She looked at her watch. 3:10 A.M.
“Trust me, you can do it,” she assured him. The doors opened and she and Sean stepped in and headed up towards the roof and the helipad. There were black marks on the walls where countless beds and gurneys had been pushed into the elevator over the course of time. Sandy knew the back-up team was waiting downstairs, so she was going the other direction. She knew she didn’t have much time. They would soon figure out that Bill and Bob were not responding and would spring into action. She didn’t want to be around for that.
She moved to the back of the elevator and checked her gun. She knew her betrayal would be obvious as soon as one of these guys made the call to Boston. Was it a betrayal if they betrayed her first? This was her escape plan from more than just the hospital.
The doors closed. Sean looked at her quizzically.
“Where are we going?”
She looked at him, her impatience apparent.
“We are getting out of here. Those men were sent to kill you. More are on the way.”
“Why?” Sean asked.
“I will explain once we get out of here.” She was certain he would achieve total recall. Would it be gradual? Could she have been wrong? She was about to find out.
“I’m confused. Why are you helping me?” he asked, rubbing his head in an attempt to ease the dull pain.
“Because, I am in love with you,” she kissed him deeply again.
“Plus, I’m pregnant.”
Sean pulled away and looked at her. His brain was still not operating on all cylinders.
“Is it mine?” Sandy’s eye’s narrowed as she delivered a quick knee to his groin. Sean doubled over. She bent down and grabbed his hair.
Yup. It was his.
“Don’t you ever speak to me again like that. Do you understand?” She let go of his hair and he straightened up slowly and was greeted by Sandy’s icy stare. He looked back – shocked, confused, scared. She didn’t think he would ever harm her. If the personality tests were correct, he would give up his life before he allowed any harm to befall someone he loved. She was hoping she fit in that category. Her plan depended on it. She felt guilty for hitting him.
“Got it.”
He was holding his side, trying to get his breath. Sandy looked up at the camera in the elevator. It captured her. It captured Sean. She wasn’t worried. The files would be lost or damaged. The police wouldn’t be after her. It would be people much worse. These people didn’t want the police involved. In fact, the police would meet roadblocks every step of the way.
Just then, the door opened and the LifeFlight Eurocopter EC145 was visible on the helipad.
BOOK II
The beast in me is caged by frail and fragile bars.
- Johnny Cash
I
A bit of clarity – not too much – j
ust a bit
Pittsburgh
Early hours – Sunday Morning
Sean stepped out of the elevator into a vestibule. Two pilots were sitting in chairs watching a Seinfeld rerun, both leaning back in their chairs with their hands behind their heads and empty cups at their feet, which probably contained that nasty hospital swill they call coffee.
“This is one of my favorites. Is it a Titleist?” Sean said, stepping closer.
“Classic,” the pilot on the left agreed.
“What are you doing up here?” the other pilot asked.
“We are going for a ride in your chopper over there.” They laughed at Sean, as they both stood up.
“Do I need to get the keys or something?” Sean said, squinting. Sandy had had enough talk. She raised her gun at both of them. They jumped to their feet, eyes wide.
“It’s yours!” the guy on the left stammered.
Sandy pointed to the elevator, escorted them over, hit the button and ordered, “Get in.” She leveled the gun at their heads. She reached around and punched “G”. The doors closed. Neither of them wanted to mess with her. They took a ride to the ground floor. Sandy turned to Sean.
“Let’s go.” They walked out onto the helipad. Sean looked at the helicopter. Big. Red and white. “LifeFlight” stickers on the side. All sorts of lights flashed on it.
“You are way too serious,” he said to her.
“Move,” she said, pointing towards the chopper.
“I can fly this?” he asked. The winds had picked up. From the rooftop, Sean could see the lights of downtown Pittsburgh.
“Yes you can. Get in.”
Sean slowly opened the cockpit door on the right hand side and got in. Sandy ran to the other side, threw the two bags in the back, climbed next to Sean and they both put on the headsets.
“Are you sure? Cause, I am drawing a blank here,” he said, looking at the forty odd knobs and switches.
“JUST FLY THE DAMN THING AND SHUT UP!” she shouted at him. She had never actually seen him fly, but he was supposed to have the skill. Not just a basic knowledge, but the skill of a Night Stalker pilot. The members of the 160th Special Operations Regiment, or Night Stalkers, are the world’s best pilots. Sean theoretically should be comfortable behind the controls of any chopper. She was going to find out soon enough. Without another word, Sean flipped on the engines. Maybe it was being yelled at? He brought the throttle all the way open. Sandy gripped her seat, as he gradually pulled the collective up and the helicopter began to rise. He depressed the left pedal to control the pitch and they shot up above the hospital. Sandy looked down. On the ground, it appeared as if every cop in Pittsburgh was racing to the hospital.
Once in the air, Sean maneuvered the cyclic and began to move forward. There was the normal shutter or effective translational lift when he went from hovering to moving forward. Sandy was white knuckling the seat. He increased the speed, heading south over the Pitt Campus.
“Just like riding a bike,” he said with a smile. He didn’t know how he did it; he just did it, like a reflex.
“Just pay attention, please,” she pleaded. “Head south.”
“Where are we going?”
“Ruby Memorial.”
“I know where that is,” he replied with a smile, pointing the chopper south.
II
The wheels come off
Prague
One week earlier
Number One, or as he called himself, Oscar Pasco, woke up early in a seedy hotel in Prague. It was almost 7 A.M. He felt different. His fever had broken. The flu had hit him hard and he was flat on his back for two days. He’d never been this sick. He felt as if a fog suddenly was lifted from his mind. He could think clearly. He could remember all the things he had been asked to do and all the people he’d killed. He didn’t feel badly about it. He was certain they had committed some sin that needed to be answered for. As he sat on the bed, he began to put the pieces together. He reached for his Camels and a lighter. Smoking helped him think. He held the cigarette in his nicotine stained hands and considered his situation. He knew people were watching him and he would find them, find out what they knew and then kill them.
He got dressed and looked in the mirror. He was not all that tall, but not all that short. Average in physical appearance. Most would describe him as sleazy. His skin was very pale, which was a departure from his black hair and thick black eye brows. He smelled. He knew he did, but no longer cared. He was a mixture of smoke and sweat.
He didn’t bother brushing his teeth, combed his hair back and left his room. Taking the elevator down to the hotel lobby, he walked over to the newsstand in the lobby and bought a paper. To his surprise he now spoke Czech and read it too. He took the paper and settled in a chair in the lobby. He opened the paper to give the impression he was reading and scanned the room. He noticed three men. Their surveillance was very good, they were nearly invisible, but he spotted them. He doubted they were as smart as he was. He excelled at solving problems, quickly seeing patterns. The three men were working in an easy to detect pattern, or at least a pattern that was easy for him to discern. He identified the leader and his back up. Based on their style, he guessed ex-military. He would need to eliminate the back up first and extract the information he needed from the leader. He continued looking through the paper and devised a plan. He would use the leader as bait to kill the other two.
The man he’d pegged as the leader was over six feet tall and was dressed casually. He was sitting across the lobby, pretending to work on a laptop.
A former Ranger, Todd Klein was a seven-year CIA veteran. Although not in the same shape he was in as a Ranger, he was still a man that shouldn’t be ignored.
Oscar felt his mind racing, moving faster than everything around him. It was as if everything was moving in slow motion but him. He rose and walked into the café off the lobby. Passing a bus boy’s tray, he reached in and pulled out a knife. Butter and some sort of jam were still on the dull blade. He didn’t care. It was all he needed. He turned and strode into the lobby, straight over to the couch where Todd Klein was stationed. Klein, saw him coming, quickly closed the laptop and reached into his pocket, but he was too slow. Klein knew, in that instant, that he did not stand a chance against Oscar. Oscar was beside him before he could draw the gun. Oscar jammed the knife up under Klein’s ribs. While the knife was not exceptionally sharp, it did the job.
“Here’s what we are going to do. You’re going to get up with me and walk to the elevator. You try one thing and I’ll send this knife into your heart,” Oscar whispered calmly, knowing full well the butter knife probably would not penetrate the shirt. Klein did not know that, of course.
Klein nodded and got up. They both moved to the elevator. The back up saw what was happening, but was not quick enough to act. Oscar and Klein made it to the elevator.
“Now, what room are you in?” Oscar asked in the same calm voice while removing Klein’s weapon. Klein wished he were yelling. Oscar’s calm manner scared him to death. The elevator immediately was filled with the pungent smelled of old tobacco and body odor. Oscar’s hygiene was the culprit.
“710.”
Oscar pushed the button for the 7th floor. Oscar pressed the gun in Klein’s back. When the door opened, he pushed Klein out and checked the hallway, but saw no one. However, he knew the other two were right behind them.
“Open it.”
Klein opened the door to his room and Oscar pushed him inside. The room had a hallway, which led to the bedroom.
“Sit,” Oscar ordered, pointing at a chair. The room was filled with surveillance equipment and two cases which no doubt held weapons. However, this was not the time to take inventory.
“Now, I want you to tell your team that you have killed me and that you need them to double time it up here. I am sure they are on their way up anyway, but I want them to have their guard down.” Klein did what he was told, figuring the team was unlikely to come out of this alive.
&n
bsp; As it turned out, he was correct.
“I need a suppressor. Where is one?” Klein pointed to the bag on the dresser. Oscar removed it and affixed it to the weapon. Oscar sat on the bed and waited for the rest of the team to enter the room. The set up of the hotel room was perfect for Oscar. The back up team would see Klein in the chair, but not Oscar. He would kill them before they realized what was happening. The hall made a fine kill-box.