by Slaton Smith
Oscar heard the door click and open. Waiting until they were both in the room, he pivoted around from behind the wall and killed both of them. As he turned, he saw Klein reaching for a gun.
“Now. Now. Please sit back down.” Klein sat back down but remained silent. Oscar walked over to the same bag the suppressor was in and found a set of handcuffs.
“Mister? I am sorry I don’t know your name,” Oscar said looking at him.
Klein was silent.
“OK. We can do it this way too. Please put your hands behind your back.”
Klein did not respond. Oscar fired a point blank shot into his knee. Klein fell out of the chair reaching for his destroyed knee. Oscar slapped cuffs on Klein’s left wrist, pushed him onto the rug that was rapidly becoming stained with blood. He then cuffed Klein’s right wrist and pulled him back into the chair.
“I think I had better tie you to this chair. I don’t want you falling down again,” Oscar said, as he pulled the cords out of the lamps and fastened Klein to the chair. Oscar sat down once again on the bed and looked at Klein. Klein’s face was racked with pain, but he still had not spoken.
“You’re a tough nut. I am guessing Marines? Ranger?” Oscar asked, taunting Klein.
He was met with silence.
“Just so you know, I pretty much know everything at this point. I just need a couple more pieces of information. I also want money. I know some operational funds are here. I want them. I also want to know who set this up - not really for any sort of revenge, but to thank them. I now have a unique skill set that I can profit from.”
He leaned forward toward Klein’s face.
“Please don’t lie to me when I ask you a question. I know that you know I am smart -smarter than you. If you lie, there will be repercussions. By the way, I consider silence lying as well during this particular session. Let’s get that straight. I don’t want any misunderstanding between us.”
Again silence.
“I need a knife, one without butter on it,” he laughed, pulling the original knife out of his pocket and showing it to Klein.
“I beat you with a butter knife. I bet that makes you feel about this big,” he said, holding up his thumb and index finger. He threw the knife on the desk.
Oscar tossed the large duffel bags on the bed, opened up the first one and to his surprise found all the tools he would need for his new business venture. At least enough to get him started. He also discovered a very sharp ceramic knife. He examined the blade in the light. Sharp indeed. He turned and looked at Klein and held the knife up.
“This can go easy or hard. I really don’t care. I am going to get what I want in the end.”
Klein stared straight ahead. He knew this was a possibility. He knew it from the first hit in Luxembourg. He also knew that Oscar Pasco was much faster, a thousand times more ruthless and incredibly unstable. They had played with fire and he was the first one that was going to get burned.
“Where is the money? This should be easy. It’s not really yours anyway.”
No answer.
Oscar held the knife in his left hand, placed the tip of the knife in Klein’s right nostril and flicked the knife with his wrist, easily slicing through his nose. Blood poured out of the wound.
Klein had gone through the Special Forces Survive, Evade, Resist, Escape (SERE) training at Camp MacKall. It was a tough three-week course, but you never knew what the real thing feels like until you are strapped to a chair with part of your face sliced open by a nutcase. The training would only help for so long before a person cracked.
“Any answers now?”
Silence.
Klein pressed his chin to his chest trying to avoid the knife. Oscar did the same with the other nostril.
“Look, I am only interested in making a few bucks here. I am not coming after your bosses. Not unless there is a profit to be had,” Oscar said calmly.
“Money is in a safe in the closet,” Klein said, nodding towards the wall opposite the bed. Oscar strode over to the door and opened it. Sure enough, inside was a small safe.
“Code?”
“4590”
Oscar entered the code and opened the safe. A backpack was inside. He removed it, placed it on the bed and dumped out the contents. Bingo! $150,000 in Euros spilled onto the bed.
“This it?” Oscar asked, looking at Klein.
“That’s it.”
“OK. So, now tell me about who provided all of this. I know it wasn’t you. You’re an errand boy.”
Oscar was met with silence.
“This again?” Oscar said picking up the knife. He snapped his wrist and flicked off Klein’s right ear lobe - he grunted in pain.
“There’s a lot more ear to lop off.” Oscar paused. “You know, I think I had better gag you until you are ready to talk.” Oscar walked into the bathroom, grabbed a white hand towel and jammed it into Todd Klein’s mouth. Then he went to work on the former Ranger. Finally, when it appeared Klein was ready to talk, Oscar removed the gag.
“I work for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Well duh. What else? Who put this together?”
“Robert Waters.”
“Mmmmmhmmm. And?”
“We programmed men like you to become killers,” Klein said, gasping for air.
“How do you track me? There has got to be something on me to track my comings and goings.”
“There is a tracker in your right butt cheek, smaller than a grain of rice. Your phone is also bugged. We see everything you do,” he answered, trying to catch his breath.
Oscar thought for a moment. The instant the tracker was destroyed, they would know the program had gone south. He needed to get to a bank, move the funds, if he still could, and then remove the tracking device. He also began to think about the people he’d killed. Their families and business associates would be unhappy - definitely people to avoid.
“Back to my money. Can I still access the money you people have been paying me?”
“Yes.”
Oscar knew it would be frozen if he did not act quickly.
“I need the details on the people I killed. I imagine their associates are unhappy.”
“I have the intel on only the last target. Everything else has been destroyed,” Klein nodded towards his laptop.
“I will need the code for that as well. And, your phone.” Klein provided it.
Oscar examined Klein’s phone and saw a handful of email addresses.
“Which one is Waters?”
“The address is random. The phone will send it to a random address. Waters has a key that tells him where to log in.”
Oscar paused and gazed out the window. He figured he had another ten minutes of this and then he needed to split. He looked at the bloody mess under the chair and the blood in the hall. “Oh, well,” he thought to himself.
“How many men like me did you create? Create? Is that the right word for it?” Oscar asked.
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen?”
“Yes, but all of them are dead but you and one other guy.”
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know. Everything is done in silos,” Klein answered, trying to keep at least one scrap of information way from him. Klein was part of the project from the beginning and knew most of the details of the program.
“You had better come up with a better answer.”
Todd Klein was silent. Oscar once again took the knife and slammed it down into Klein’s thigh.
Klein screamed as Oscar twisted the knife embedded in his leg.
Oscar knew the other survivor of the program would have made some nasty enemies and most likely, those people would want retribution. That presented an opportunity for him. He was certain these people would put a handsome bounty on his counterpart’s head.
“Garrison! Sean Garrison!”
“There you go. That was not so hard. Tell me more about Mr. Garrison. I think I would like to meet him.”
III
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Waters’ Clean-up Crew
UPMC
Inside the hospital, the Pittsburgh SWAT team had arrived. Brian had radioed and told them it was clear, but the team was taking no chances. After Sandy and Sean left, Michelle collapsed. The blood from the slain Marines covered most of the floor. Brian lifted her up and walked through the blood in the cleats, leaving odd tracks in the gore. He carried Michelle into the next room and placed her on an empty bed. Lucy had returned and was trying to calm everyone while also doing a headcount. She did not see the other nurse, Martha. “I hope she’s OK,” she thought to herself.
The SWAT team burst onto the floor via the exits. Brian held up his badge as two officers approached him, weapons aimed at his head. They really did not care what he was holding.
“I’m a cop! I called you!” he shouted impatiently. They didn’t immediately respond, continuing to search the floor. Repeatedly, the team screamed “clear”. The SWAT team leader walked into Sean’s room.
“Jesus! What happened here?” he asked leaning over, examining the bodies.
Brian was silent.
Another SWAT member entered the room, followed by homicide detective Barry Willis. He pulled on gloves. He was decked out in black pants, a red golf shirt and looked ready to hit the links. No tweed for this guy. His clubs, no doubt were in the car. He looked at Brian and the SWAT team leader.
“Get out.”
Brian and the SWAT guys ignored him.
“I was sleeping in the chair when I heard two shots and saw these two guys lying on the floor. A woman, 5’5” or so with brown hair grabbed my friend and took off,” Brian explained. He was not sure why he lied. Protecting Sean?
Willis did not respond. He knelt down and examined the two bodies. He had a telescopic rod, much like an old car antenna. He lifted Bob’s sleeve. A small tattoo peeked out. A winged skull. The SWAT leader bent over and studied the tattoo.
“I know that tattoo. It’s a FORCE RECON tat. That guy is, or was a Marine. Looking at his buddy, I would guess he was one too. They are real bad-asses. Whoever took them down was good. Very good,” he explained, without being asked. Brian shuttered as Willis stood up.
“You want to be a detective now?” he said looking at the man dressed in all black with an automatic weapon in his hand. The SWAT leader looked him over.
“You mean looking like a pussy, playing cop? No thanks,” he said to Willis, turned and walked out. Brian followed him out
“Hey, thanks for getting here as fast as you did. Don’t let Willis bother you, he’s a dick. I’m Brian Ippolito,” Brian said, extending his hand. The SWAT leader shook his hand and removed his helmet.
“No problem. You said this was a woman?” he said, squinting.
“Yeah. Tell me about these RECON guys.”
“They are tough bastards. They don’t die easily. I saw them from time to time when I was in the Corps.”
“You one?” Brian asked.
“I was a Marine, but not RECON. I was a MP. Right before I left, we broke up a brawl between five Navy punks and these two RECON sergeants. They beat the Navy guys to a pulp and it took five of us to get them under control. I thought they were going to kill us all.”
Brian remained silent. He knew the woman was one of the most frightening people he had ever seen. She knew who he was. She knew Michelle. She obviously knew Sean. Sean knew her, or thought he did. Who was she?
“Like I said, whoever took these two down was fast, smart and very, very well trained. He looked at Brian and his bloody cleats. “I hope they find your friend.”
Police were swarming all over the hospital floor. Lucy was tending to Michelle. Brian saw what looked like two pilots accompanied by two uniformed officers. They spoke to Willis. Willis looked over and pointed at Brian. Brian hesitantly joined then.
“You want to tell me the truth?” Willis asked. Brian stood there. He did not answer.
“These two say the woman didn’t have brown hair. She wasn’t short. She was a six foot blonde. Really, the exact opposite of your description,” he said, getting in Brian’s face.
“It all happened pretty fast,” Brian answered, clinging to a lie that was slipping away from him.
“Oh, these guys also tell me that your friend flew off in their helicopter. You want to explain that?”
“What?” Brian gasped. His head was spinning. He looked over at the room where Michelle was sitting. He had to talk to her.
“Anything else?” Willis asked, turning back to the pilots.
“I thought she was going to kill us both. I thought we were done for,” one of the pilots said. The other guy looked at Brian.
“Oh, yeah, it looked like your buddy was having a great time. It seemed as if they knew each other.” Both turned and walked away, happy to be getting out of there.
“I’m not done with you,” Willis said to Brian, who was walking away. Brian slipped into the room where Michelle was lying down.
In the lobby of the hospital, Bill and Bob’s back up were moving towards the elevator. One of them was on the phone.
“Yes, they both are gone. She killed her team. Looks like she was waiting for them,” one agent said. Dozens of police officers rushed past them. Both men had FBI badges hanging from their necks. “She took Number Two.”
“Damn it! How did this happen? You were to eliminate both of them! I think we can call him Garrison now!” Robert Waters shouted.
“It gets worse. Number Two, I mean Garrison, hijacked a LifeFlight helicopter and flew it off the roof. Police chatter has them heading south with him at the controls.” There was no answer on the other end - just breathing. There was a long pause. The agent stood like a statue. His partner was watching him, anxiously.
“You both are to go upstairs and control the crime scene. We cannot let the local guys take those two bodies. It will look pretty bad if they run the prints and find that these guys actually died years ago. I will send another team over to take the bodies. When they arrive, you head south. I will have a bearing on Garrison.” Waters had a third team on standby that he would scramble in a waiting Blackhawk.
“What about the hospital cameras?” the agent asked.
“We are already in their system,” Waters informed them and hung up. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. The desk in front of him was devoid of any personal mementoes - his job was his life. Robert Waters was still fairly young – in his mid-40s. He had a slight build and he already had on a blue suit and blue shirt. Some days he felt like he slept in a suit. Like “Sandy” he was Ivy League educated and entered government service right out of school.
Now, he was going to have to make a call. His program was shut down, but there were three loose ends. He was confident that he would eliminate Sandy and Sean Garrison within the day. They were alone, without support. It was really too bad. He had an eye for Sandy. Number One, Oscar Pasco, was still out there as well. He had no idea where he was. Pasco, the most dangerous of all, had gone rogue last week, brutally murdering his handler. None of the fail-safes had worked. He had total recall. Garrison could not be far behind. Waters thought there was little chance Pasco would come after him. Oscar Pasco was motivated by money. If there was no money to be had, Pasco was not a danger. He looked at the phone in his hand and then changed his mind. He would check in when he had progress to report. It was early Sunday morning.
“Why can’t these things happen between nine and five on a weekday?” Waters said to himself.
★★★
The agent put his phone in his breast pocket and they both walked over to UPMC’s bank of elevators.
Upstairs, Brian tried to talk with Michelle. She was still out. He checked down the hall. Two serious men in suits were approaching Detective Willis. Brian slipped out of the room just as one of the agents flashed his federal credentials.
“We are taking over here,” the agent announced. Their backs were to Sean’s room. Brian wanted to get another look at the two Marines. He slipp
ed into the room and looked around. The blood on the floor appeared to be drying. He saw a drinking glass on Sean’s hospital tray. He picked it up and quickly bent down. He took Bob’s hand, removed the latex glove and pressed the hand to the glass. He wanted the prints. He placed the glove in his shorts as he heard the agents in the hallway. He stuck the cup in the waistband of his shorts and pulled his t-shirt down over it. He started for the door and came face to face with one of the agents, who looked Brian right in the eyes. Brian had seen the look before. He didn’t like it any better now than he had an hour ago when Sandy pointed a gun at him.