by Slaton Smith
Sergei leaned forward.
“If it would not get me arrested, I’d like to do the same to you,” he said and winked.
“Get out of here before you get us both in trouble!” She started laughing.
Sergei was laughing too. He moved next to Sean and put his wallet and boarding pass in a plastic bin.
Looking at him, Sean noted, “Well, that didn’t draw any attention or anything.”
“Move. You are holding up the line.” Sergei nudged Sean in the back.
They made their way to the gate. There was a small deli across the concourse located in a sort of mini food court. The concourse smelled like a mixture of cinnamon rolls and freshly baked bread. Sean loved the placement of these types of restaurants. They always seemed to be right by the gates. Disembarking passengers, hungry from a flight were greeted by olfactory merchandising. Their noses led their wallets right to the counter for $5.99 cinnamon rolls.
“Sergei, you want something?”
“Yes.”
They stepped into the deli and ordered.
“You paying?” Sean asked.
“No.”
“Well Sandy. Paid for . . .” Sean said and trailed off.
“It’s Ana and I am not her! You pay for your own damn food! You have money!” Sergei barked, moving past him and handing the cashier a $20 for his lunch. Sean thought about calling him something like “asshole or jerk,” but decided that was not a wise course of action.
Sean didn’t think he had any money. He looked inside the backpack, found a zippered pocket with wad of cash inside. A lot of it. He peeled off a $100 and handed it to a twenty-something cashier. She frowned.
“This all you got?” She was chewing a piece of gum in a very distracting manner. Actually, it was like more smacking than chewing. It was not attractive.
“Yes. It is.”
“You see that sign? I can’t make change for this.” She pointed at the “No bills over $20” sign.
Sean stood looking at her and then at the six people in line behind him.
“Fine. I’ll pay for all of their orders.” He gestured towards the people in line.
“What?” She was stunned. She nearly choked on her gum. Almost.
“You keep what’s left.” He smiled and walked away.
Sean sat down at a table in the middle of the concourse with Sergei and ate his sandwich. He found he needed to eat every three hours to stay sharp.
“So what do we do when we get there?” Sean asked.
“A friend of mine will pick us up. He has everything we need.”
“Who is he?”
“A friend from Russia.”
“Like you?” Sean took a sip of his drink.
“Yes. We served together. His name is Pavel. He was a sergeant. A great one. He has been briefed. He also has known Ana since she was a little girl. I trust him completely.”
Sean took that to mean that he did not trust Sean at all. “Oh well,” Sean thought.
While they were talking, two women with roller bags walked over.
“Thank you! Thank you!” They held up the bags with their lunches in them. Sean nodded at them and smiled.
“What’s that about?” Sergei asked.
“I bought them lunch.”
Sergei put his sandwich down and just looked at Sean, almost as if he was trying to solve a long division problem. He finally shook his head, picked up his sandwich and continued eating.
“My friend is tracking Waters. He’s in a hotel in D.C. and we will need to move quickly. I fear he will try to flee the country. We need to grab him at the hotel tonight,” Sergei explained.
“Why?”
“I want to question him before I kill him,” Sergei said, wadding up the wrapper from his sandwich and stuffing it in the bag. Sean did not like the cold look in his eye, but figured he looked the same way.
The gate agent called for boarding. Sean looked at his ticket. He hated not having his elite status. Boarding with everyone else sucked. They boarded plane and had adjacent seats.
Sergei closed his eyes to try and sleep. This was certainly more comfortable than flying on the An-22s, the Russian troop transports. He also was glad he was no longer jumping out of planes. It got old fast.
Sean did not rest easy. His mind was still moving a million miles an hour. What was waiting for him in D.C.? Was this Russian senior citizen going to slit his throat the first chance he got? He looked over at Sergei Molotov sitting in the next seat. He was every bit as big as Sean, however, Sean was certain he was 1000 times tougher. What about this other “mad” Russian picking them up? Sean assumed he was a muscle-bound killer like Sandy’s father. He tried to close his eyes and rest, but it was impossible. Could he do what he needed to? Would he know how?
He would find out soon enough.
X
Baiting the hook
700 MPH – Over the Atlantic
Monday
Oscar Pasco was shooting across the Atlantic at terrific speed in a Cessna Citation X, the fastest passenger jet in the world. Of course, the Prince had one and it worked out for the best. With the time difference and moving at a touch over 700 MPH, he would make the 3,800 mile trip to Washington, D.C. in five and a half hours. The jet took off at 4 P.M. Paris time and would be in D.C. by late afternoon local time.
Oscar would be picked up by three of Ahmed’s men in Washington. Another group had been sent to the Willard to conduct surveillance on Waters. Oscar had easily tracked Waters back to the hotel via the email he had sent.
He thought about the money he was going to make. Screw the Detroit casinos. He was going to Vegas. The plan he had sold the Prince and Ahmed had a high probability of success. The flaw was letting the Arab goons execute it.
The pilot had given up trying to get Oscar to stop smoking, not that Oscar could stop himself. While Sean worked out like a nut, Oscar’s OCD pushed him towards addiction, smoking being just one of them.
Oscar helped himself to the scotch on board. He was enjoying himself. He was looking forward to flying back across the Atlantic with Ana Molotov tied up on the floor of the plane. “Maybe I can score some Viagra. She would love it!” he said to himself. After he had his fun, he would turn her over to the Prince and collect the $2 million bonus.
The pilot announced they would be landing in thirty minutes. Oscar got his papers in order. The plane landed and taxied to a hanger where customs officials met it. They looked over his papers, stamped them and sent him on his way. Three burley Saudis were waiting in a Range Rover inside the hanger.
“Well? Let’s go!” he said to the driver. None of the Saudis spoke.
The car pulled out of the airport and drove along the service road. The man to Oscar’s right, sharing the back seat with him, was obviously unhappy with Oscar’s presence.
In Arabic, he said to the others, “Why does Ahmed trust this man? He is a puny, filthy infidel. We should kill him along with the man from the CIA.”
Oscar pulled the ceramic knife out of his sleeve and in the blink of an eye, stabbed the man twice through the heart. With a slight groan, the Saudi slumped over. The driver slammed on the brakes and swerved over to the shoulder.
In Arabic, Oscar said, “Please don’t try to outwit me. You will fail. The man next to me was an idiot. It is no loss. Pull back onto the road. We have work to do.”
“What do we do with him?” the driver asked.
“I don’t give a shit. Drive to the Willard.”
XI
Everyone Wants Waters
Reagan International
Monday − Late Afternoon
The plane touched down in Washington a couple minutes early. Sergei powered up his phone and had a text. He read it and dialed a number. He spoke briefly on the phone, then turned to Sean.
“We need to find our own ride. There have been complications.”
Sean nodded. They exited the plane and walked up the jet way to the concourse. Sergei pulled Sean aside when they were clear.
“There is another team watching Waters.”
“Who?”
“Arabs. My friend says they are very sloppy. He is going to maintain surveillance. We need to hurry.”
“Sure. Let’s go.” Sean headed towards baggage claim with Sergei close behind him. Sean noticed that he moved like he was Sean’s age. Clean living, Sean assumed. They went to the Hertz counter and picked up a Suburban with little effort using the Mason MasterCard and driver’s license. Sean was getting to like using the alias. The part about not paying for anything was attractive. Sean got in the driver’s seat and Sergei in the passenger seat and left the airport.
“Where are we going?”
“Willard Hotel. Pennsylvania Avenue. You know it?”
“Yeah. It won’t take long.”
Sergei took out his phone and hit redial.
In Russian he said, “Do you have everything we discussed?”
“Yes. Will the boy hold us back?” Pavel asked. He had heard about Sean, but had his doubts.
“No. I actually want him to lead this,” Sergei responded.
“Your call Sergei. Waters has not left the room. I think the Arabs are waiting for someone. They have not moved and seem nervous.”
“They are waiting for the ‘brains.’ They are just thugs. The leader can’t be far behind.”
“Agreed. How far out are you?”
“Ten minutes.”
“I am in a Mercedes panel van across from the hotel.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Sergei said.
“I think I know why the Arabs are there,” Sean said quietly, while negotiating late afternoon D.C. traffic.
“Why?” Sergei knew why, but wanted to see if Sean’s memory was returning. He had read everything Pavel had dug up on Sean and Waters. Plus, his daughter told him that bits and pieces of the last eighteen months would come back to Sean. However, it was impossible to tell when his memory would fully return.
“I am sure I was sent after someone on Waters’ list.”
Sergei decided to tell him.
“You’re right. You killed a Saudi prince in August. A disgusting man.” Sergei waited for a response.
“What? I don’t remember it!”
“Look Sean, you killed a man who funded terror. Money that helped terrorists kill Americans. He raped and murdered. I don’t like how Waters did this. It sickened me when I learned what he did to you. . . . What he did to Ana. . . .”
Sean’s face turned red.
“How do you know about all this?”
“Ana of course. Plus, we hacked into their system and I was able to gather enough information to understand what they were doing made them war criminals. This is not the America I fled Russia to be a part of. We are going to make this right.”
“Agreed.”
“I imagine the men waiting at the hotel are there for retribution - probably sent by the Prince’s son.”
“How will we handle it?”
“If they interfere, we kill them. We must secure Waters and find out what he knows,” Sergei said.
“I thought you hacked into their system?”
“Some things are not stored on computers, Sean.”
They arrived at the hotel and located Pavel’s van. They drove around back and parked in the loading dock along side a concrete wall. The loading area was a sixty-foot wide concrete pad, large enough for four semi trucks to back in and park. The loading dock ran the length of the area with a fifteen-foot pad and a door that led to the kitchen and hotel laundry. Approximately thirty feet from the inside door was a large service elevator.
“Sean, walk around the hotel, make sure you are clear before getting in the van and act like it’s yours. Don’t knock. Just get in. I am going to walk through the hotel and then to room 520. Pavel will give you what we need.”
Sean nodded, went around the building, trotted across the street and walked down the sidewalk to the van. He climbed in the passenger seat and instantly felt a gun pressed against the base of his neck.
In Russian, he heard a gruff voice, “You are stealing the wrong van.”
Sean responded in Russian, “Uncle Pavel?”
“I am not your damn uncle.” Pavel lowered his weapon.
Sean turned and slid into the back and saw a man in his early sixties sitting on a stool with a pistol in his hand. Pavel looked to be less than six feet tall and a few pounds shy of 175 pounds. He was no Sergei, but he certainly didn’t look his age. He had dark hair with flecks of grey. He had a wild goatee that was all white. He gestured for Sean to take a seat on a second stool.
“I’m Sean.”
“I know who you are. Where did you learn to speak Russian?”
“I am sure you know.”
Pavel ignored the quip.
“Well, our task has become more complicated. These Arabs are waiting for someone. We need to grab Waters now.”
Sean nodded.
“I have packed everything into this roller bag, including the knives Ana said you would want.”
“What knives?”
“A knife called a Garm. Sharp, double edged,” Pavel explained casually, as if he was talking about the weather.
“She’s very thoughtful,” was all Sean could manage.
“Here’s the room key. Just walk through the lobby to the elevators like you belong. I will meet you around back,” Pavel said, handing Sean the roller bag.
Sean exited the side door of the van and jogged across the street. Shortly after Sean crossed the street, a Range Rover driven by two Saudi men and Oscar Pasco passed in front of the hotel – they did not notice the van or Sean.
“Pull around back. We will go in through the loading dock,” Oscar commanded. He spoke to them as if they were less than human. In Oscar mind, they were.
The driver complied and parked behind Sean’s Suburban. Oscar looked with distain at the two in the front.
“Hold on, I need to call your boss,” Oscar ordered and dialed Ahmed.
“Do you have him?” Ahmed asked.
“No. We are just outside. I want to ask you to reconsider,” Oscar urged.
“Reconsider what?”
“Let me take care of this alone. It can be over in seconds,” Oscar answered.
“No, the Prince was clear. An Arab will kill them.”
“It is a mistake.”
“Noted. You are being paid well to consult. Will the trap work?”
“Yes. Garrison and the girl will come for him,” Oscar said, confidently.
“Call me when it is done,” Ahmed barked and hung up.
Oscar Pasco looked at the two in the front seat of the Range Rover. The driver was watching him in the mirror. They had dropped their dead companion in a dumpster behind a grocery store and Oscar now sat in the middle of the back seat.
In Arabic he said, “Waters is not to be killed. Do you understand? We need him to catch the other two.”
They looked blankly at Oscar.
“Let me put it to you this way. If you fuck it up, I will skin you alive, cut off your limbs and feed you to feral hogs.”
He glared at them. They nodded this time. Oscar’s eyes were empty, dark and full of malice.
“You and your partner go to Waters’ room. He’s in 619. Position the other three men on the loading dock. Bring him to the truck, and we will take him to the safe house Ahmed has set up. Simple, even for you,” Oscar directed.
“What are you going to do?” the driver challenged.
“I am going to sit here. I am a consultant. You heard your boss. Only big strong Arabs are doing this,” he said, mocking them.
The two men got out of the Range Rover and called the team watching the hotel. They left their posts and made their way to the loading dock.
Sean was already in room 520 and Sergei was unloading the bag. He passed Sean two knives, the Garms that had been packed for him. He also handed Sean a set of zip ties and a Glock 22 with a holster that strapped to his leg. He recognized it, - it was t
he same gun Brian carried. He put on a vest where he secured the knives and two clips for the Glock. Sergei threw a suppressed H&K XM8 compact carbide over his shoulder. He also placed an H&K P2000 into a holster. He gave Sean a D.C. police badge on a chain. Sergei already had his around his neck.