by Slaton Smith
“Here. Tonight, you’re a cop. Flash that if we see anyone.” Sean put the chain around his neck.
Sergei handed Sean an earpiece. He could hear Pavel. Lastly, Sergei tossed him a black hood.
“Put it on and let’s go.”
He spoke to Pavel.
“Bring the van around.”
“The Arabs are on the move. You will need to hurry,” Pavel reported.
“We need to move fast,” Sergei said over his shoulder to Sean.
They left the room and took the stairs to the next floor. Sergei stopped just outside the door to the 6th floor hallway. He glanced over at Sean.
“Only Russian. We speak only Russian.”
In Russian, Sean responded, “Understood.”
“I have a key. When I open it, you will break the safety bar off the frame. You will need to act fast. Get him. Subdue him. We will take him down the service elevator.”
They approached room 619. Sergei looked at Sean, who nodded slightly. Sergei inserted the key. Sean heard the door lock disengage and he put all of his 215 pounds into the door. The safety lock flew off the frame and they stormed into the room. Waters was sitting calmly in a chair by the window reading. Sergei followed with the H&K up, checking the room. It was clear. He saw Waters’ briefcase on the desk. He grabbed it and emptied the contents into a messenger bag.
Sean grabbed Waters by the hair and threw him on the bed. He cuffed him and lifted him to his feet. Sergei looked at Waters. He wanted to gut him right there, but he had a job to do first.
In Russian, Sergei said, “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
Waters glared at them, “What took you so long?”
In Russian, Sean said, “Shut your mouth.”
Sergei walked forward and grabbed Waters by the shirt.
“I know who you are. She has your eyes,” Waters quipped with a smirk, staring directly at Sergei.
“We should end this here,” Sean said in Russian.
“No. I have plans for him,” Sergei responded
Sergei restrained himself. He knew Waters was trying to provoke him in an effort to avoid what was coming. Waters knew they were going to extract whatever information they could from him and it was going to be painful and most certainly ending with his death.
Sean quickly moved out of the room and Sergei pushed Waters forward. Sergei still had his gun up as they walked down the hall towards the service elevator. He knew the Arabs were on the way. Sean pushed the button to call the elevator. The doors opened and inside were two large Arab men dressed in suits. They jumped when they saw Sean and reached for their weapons. They did not get far. With speed that startled Sergei, Sean drew both knives, one in each hand and drove the blades up and through the Arabs’ necks and into their skulls. They briefly leaned against the back wall of the elevator before sliding to the floor. Sean looked over his shoulder.
“Get in,” he said coldly in Russian.
Sergei shoved Waters in and pushed the button for the lower level.
“There will be more when these doors open. We have the element of surprise. We will need to kill them all,” Sergei instructed.
“And you must be Sean,” Waters remarked, “I recognize the knives. The hoods don’t help. I know killers when I see them.”
Sean reached down and pulled the knives out of the Arabs’ skulls. He stood and held them in front of Waters’ face. With one in each hand, he wiped the blood and brain matter off on Waters’ Brooks Brothers shirt and put knives back in the sheaves on his vest.
“Pavel, we are coming to the ground floor,” Sergei reported.
Sean did not speak. He pointed to the monitor in the elevator. One more floor.
“We cannot let any harm come to him,” Sergei commanded in Russian, as he pushed Sean and Waters to the side of the elevator to provide a small bit of cover.
The doors opened to the hotel’s massive kitchen. Sergei exited the elevator with the gun up, firm against his shoulder. Cooks and wait staff stopped what they were doing and stared. A room that was filled with the sounds of dozens of pots and pans banging and clanging accompanied by people barking orders suddenly went silent. Sean held up his D.C. police badge.
“D.C. Police! Get back!” Sean thought he sounded official. Everyone in the kitchen froze. Sergei and Sean looked terrifying with the black hoods they were wearing. Oh, and then there were the guns – people tend to respond to automatic weapons.
They made their way through the kitchen to a set of double doors that led to the loading dock. Sergei pushed through the doors and onto the loading dock pad. As he expected, there were three more Arabs standing on the platform. Two were smoking, not paying attention. Idiots. One had a weapon in his hand, but he was too slow. Sergei brought them down with one shot to each of their heads. Seconds later, Pavel roared into the loading area in the van and backed it up to the edge of the dock. Sean pushed Waters out onto the concrete platform.
“Damn it,” Oscar said, as he watched the whole scene unfold. He knew the Arabs would fuck it up. He picked up a Berretta from under the seat, got out of the Range Rover, flipping his cigarette to the ground. He calmly moved towards the black van and the men on the dock. Not running. Just walking.
Sergei saw him and knew he was trouble. He knew the walk. He knew the look.
Before Oscar could speak or act, Sergei flipped the H&K to full auto and emptied the clip in Oscar’s direction. Oscar was fast enough to dive between the Suburban and the Range Rover.
“I just want Waters!” Oscar yelled. He held the Berretta loose at his side. He was confident - perhaps, a little over confident. He was standing next to Sean’s rented Suburban. He raised the gun and let a few rounds go. They harmlessly hit the side of the van. He did not want to hit Waters. He needed him.
“Hurry! Get Waters in the van!” Sergei shouted, changed out the clip to the H&K and kept his weapon trained on Oscar, taking a kneeling position that provided him cover behind the open van door. He fired a three-round burst at Oscar, trying to keep him pinned down.
Oscar heard them speaking in Russian and was running through his head the reasons that the Russians might be here.
Sean saw what was unfolding and pushed Waters into the van. Waters landed in a heap on the hard, metal floor as Pavel pulled a black hood over Waters’ head. Sergei let another three-round burst go that raked the side of the Suburban. Oscar stayed put. Sergei’s strategy was successful. He had pinned down Oscar between the back of the Suburban and the front of the Range Rover.
Oscar was pinned down. Sean jumped off the loading dock and pulled the Glock from the holster on his leg. He emptied his Glock as he ran towards Oscar. When the last shot was fired from Sean’s gun, Oscar moved around the side of the Suburban to get another chance at bringing down Sergei, but Sean was already there and delivered a crushing blow to Oscar’s jaw, before he could pull the trigger. The Berretta flew out of Oscar’s hand and skidded across the loading area and stopped fifteen feet from both Sean and Oscar. The blow sent Oscar crashing into the front of the Ranger Rover. Oscar was stunned by the speed of the Russian, but he was still able to react.
Oscar instinctively drew the ceramic knife and with a fast, but wild motion sliced through Sean’s shirt and into his shoulder. Sean jumped back and touched his shoulder. His hand came back bloody. Under his hood he smiled. He did not like what he had become, but damn, he was good at it.
Sergei couldn’t get a shot off to take down Oscar. He had to make a call. It was one of the reasons he knew he couldn’t make the promise to Ana to bring Sean home. He jumped into the van and pulled the doors shut.
“Pavel! Go!” Sergei shouted. He could not let this man get Waters.
“What about the boy?” Pavel yelled at Sergei with concern.
“Go! He will catch up!”
Pavel floored the van and glanced to his left at Sean as he shot past.
“Looks like your ride left,” Oscar taunted Sean in Russian.
Sean did not respond.
; “I don’t know why you Russians are here, but this is going to go badly for you. I am going to slice you into pieces and send you back to Moscow in a bloody zip lock bag,” Oscar said in Russian, slowly moving in Sean’s direction. Sean reached for his vest with his right hand, pulled out a blood-covered knife and took a step towards Oscar. Sean’s eyes narrowed, he did not speak, keeping his eyes trained on Oscar’s left hand that was holding the knife. Oscar was moving it back and forth in front of him.
“Fool.” Oscar grunted and took a lightning quick step forward, slicing the blade with a right to left slashing motion intended for Sean’s neck. Sean was ready, dodged the attack and shot a quick but powerful left hook to Oscar’s jaw. The blow knocked Oscar off his feet. This was the second time in a matter of seconds that he had been hit hard and fast. He was stung with the realization that he was no longer the biggest bully on the block. Oscar jumped to his feet before Sean could finish him. Sean took a step back and held the knife out pointing at Oscar.
It dawned on Oscar who it was.
In English, he said, “Hello Sean. Your Russian is quite good. I’m not going to kill you or your little Russian cupcake today. I know she is around here somewhere. Well, at least not until I get more money that is.”
Oscar backed up, eyeing Sean. Once he was a decent distance from him, he turned and got into the Range Rover. The windshield and the hood had several bullet holes in them - he hoped there was not any damage to the engine. Oscar got in and it fired right up. He made a U-turn in the loading area and took off.
Sean stood for a moment. He realized he had just met the man Sandy had warned him about, Number One – Oscar Pasco.
“Not so tough,” he said to himself.
The hood he had on was hot, but he knew better than to take it off. No doubt there were cameras. He ran over to the Suburban, and could hear sirens in the distance. He pulled out of the hotel’s loading area, driving in the direction he believed Sergei was heading. He took off the hood when he was clear of the hotel. Then, with quite a bit of trouble, he took off the vest. He drove for a couple of minutes in silence, which was broken by Sergei in his earpiece. He had forgotten he had it on.
“Corner of K Street and 19th. Thirty minutes,” Sergei ordered. His voice was followed by static. Sean reached up and pulled out the earpiece. The static was loud and it felt like his eardrum was being ripped in two. He stuffed it in his backpack.
Sean knew the city fairly well. He parked in a garage near George Washington University. He went to one of the lower levels, took everything he had been wearing, the vest, gun, hood and knives and stuffed them into the backpack. He stripped off his shirt and looked at his shoulder.
“Shit,” he said, examining his shoulder and the blood running down his arm. He put pressure on the wound with the shirt but it was clear it was not going to stop bleeding. He looked through the backpack and found what he was looking for - super glue. Sandy thought of everything. He popped the top off and applied the glue to the gash and pressed it together. It seemed to work. He looked in the backpack again and pulled out a fresh shirt and pulled it on. He then tried to wipe down the truck interior as best he could with the ruined, blood-stained shirt. He left the keys to the truck in the ignition, got out and walked up the ramp towards the street. He tossed the old shirt into a trashcan as he exited the garage and hustled towards K-Street. He tried to remain calm. He’d just killed two men in an elevator in one of the best hotels in D.C. Were the cops right behind him? Did they know it was him? He tried not to show his stress, but it was tough. He had only been standing at the designated rendezvous for a handful of minutes when a blue Ford panel van pulled up. Pavel was driving. He got into the passenger seat. New van. Who knows where the other van had been dumped? Pavel did not say a word. Clear of the corner and having merged into traffic, Sean turned to look in the back at Sergei. Waters was on the floor with a black hood covering his head.
“Who was that?” Sergei asked.
“He’s like me. I am sure he knows,” Sean answered, pointing at Waters.
“You should have shot him,” Sergei replied, critically.
“Same with you,” Sean shot back.
“I couldn’t get a clean shot. He was too fast,” Sergei was taking stock of Sean’s shoulder. Blood was starting to seep through the new shirt. He pointed at it.
“Yeah, he nicked me a little.”
“Bad?” Pavel asked, looking over.
“No. I’m fine. I dumped super glue into it.”
Sergei looked at Sean, his face first and then the shoulder. He could tell Sean was not in any pain. “We’ll stitch it up properly.”
Then, without thinking, Sergei delivered a swift kick to Waters’ ribs, which caused Waters to flinch violently, groan and curl up slightly. Sergei leaned down and whispered into Waters’ ear.
“There’s a special place in hell for men like you and I am going to make sure you have a first class ticket.”
XII
Told you so
Washington, D.C.
Monday Night
Oscar drove the damaged Range Rover a couple of blocks away from the hotel and parked it. He jogged across the street to a Metro station and sat on a bench. He felt his jaw and the side of his face. It still hurt. He had at least one loose tooth. He had underestimated Sean Garrison. It wouldn’t happen again. He surveyed the platform, determining it was clear, took out his phone and dialed Ahmed.
“All of your people are dead,” Oscar reported, with satisfaction.
“What?”
“I advised you to let me handle this alone and you didn’t take that advice.”
“Who killed them?” Ahmed asked, clearly annoyed, and dreading reporting this disaster to the Prince.
“The Russians grabbed Waters. They were lead by Garrison.”
“Why did you not stop them? We paid you well!”
“You paid me to consult. You paid me to set your people up for success. I did that. I lead them to both Waters and Garrison. I cannot help that they were totally out-matched.” He did not mention his failure to save the operation.
“You still have a job to do!” Ahmed screamed into the phone.
“No. I really don’t. I did my job. The failure is on your side. Now, if you are hiring me for another assignment, we can talk.”
Ahmed really hated the man. The insolence.
“Perhaps, I should just have you killed?” Ahmed threatened.
Oscar laughed.
“Please send someone. Hell, send fifty! They will end up drowning in their own blood.”
He paused, just for effect. He loved fucking with people, but what he said contained a measure of truth.
“Then I will come for you, Ahmed.”
Ahmed slammed the phone down.
Oscar popped the back off of the phone, removed the battery and the SIM card. He got up and tossed the parts in the trash. He stood for a moment and watched all the people moving past him for the Metro and those getting off it. They brushed past him. He was anonymous. That’s how he liked it. He now had enough money to do what he wanted and what he wanted was Vegas. He was confident he could double the money the Prince had paid him. He went down the handful of steps to the sidewalk and over to the curb. He waved his hand in the air and a cab stopped in front of him. He got in and the cab pulled away.
XIII
Answers
Dale City, Virginia
Monday Night
Pavel left the city and continued down I-95, eventually exiting near Dale City. He drove for several minutes and turned into an older neighborhood. The houses were built in the late 1950’s. Pavel pulled into the driveway of a modest ranch-style home. The yard had recently been mowed and the trash cans sat neatly on the side of the house. Pavel hit a button and the garage door opened. He pulled the van into the garage and closed the door.
Sergei nudged Waters with his foot when the back doors opened. Pavel grabbed Waters by the foot and pulled him out of the van. He did not catch him. Waters fel
l out of the van and landed hard on the floor. Pavel left him there.
Waters knew he was going to die. He understood everything being done to him was designed to put fear into his heart and get him to talk. He had gone through the training to help him in just this situation. He thought he could hold out.
Sergei and Sean exited the side of the van and moved over to Waters who was prone on the garage floor. Sean glared at him. He was still angry. Make that beyond angry. He wanted to lay into Waters. He wanted to make him suffer. Sergei grabbed Waters by the foot and dragged him across the filthy garage floor through old gasoline and oil stains and into the house. He dropped him once inside the door on a thirty-year-old linoleum floor. He opened another door that led to the basement. He bent over and picked Waters up by the neck.