by Slaton Smith
Sean ducked down, sprinted to the back bedroom and took up a position just outside the door. He had not been crouched against the doorframe for more than a couple of seconds when he heard the sound of windows breaking. Sergei was right on. The flash bangs followed. Sean tried to do what he had been told, but he really was not prepared. The grenade went off in the back bedroom. The flash of light did not affect him, but the shock wave caused him to topple over and drop his gun. The crash was followed by the sound of a large South African mercenary flying through the window and into the room. He took three quick shots at Sean but missed. Sean rolled against the hallway wall. He could not find his gun. Sean surprised himself. There was not an ounce of panic in his body. Instead, he found the fuel to kill his attacker.
The mercenary came around the corner. The South African did everything by the book just liked he had done thousands of times before in training, but he was not prepared for Sean’s speed. With his right hand, Sean knocked the weapon up and with his left hand, sent a brutal blow to the man’s throat crushing his larynx. He fell to his knees and Sean kicked him over and delivered a kick to the throat that was a deathblow.
In the other room, Sean could hear the sounds of suppressed weapons - the mercenaries and the Russians. Sean picked up the gun from the dead mercenary and headed towards the front of the house. He entered the living room and found the mercenaries firing on Sergei and Pavel. Sean had an angle on them, advanced into the room and killed both mercenaries with a shot to the head. The men had no time to react to Sean’s lightning quick attack.
“CLEAR!” he yelled in Russian. Sergei came out of the kitchen, followed by Pavel. Sean kept the gun in his hand. He was not sure he could trust them. In his mind, they could open up on him as well.
“Well done. You are Spetsnaz material!” Pavel exclaimed and slapped Sean on the arm. Sergei did not dignify the remark. He went back to the kitchen, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and made a call. The police would not be visiting the house.
“We need to get Waters’ body and get out of here. First, let’s see what these guys have on them.” Sergei patted down the men and stripped them of their equipment.
“Mercenaries,” Pavel said aloud, looking down at their equipment and hood-covered faces. Sean bent over and pulled the hood off of one of the men he had shot. A big blonde head hit the floor as the hood was removed. Sergei shone the light on the man’s face.
“I would bet South African.”
Pavel nodded.
Sergei and Pavel finished stripping the men of everything useful.
“Sean, gather up all of this stuff and put it in the duffel. Pavel and I are going to load Waters’ body into the truck.” He tossed Sean a second flashlight.
Sean just nodded. He was relived. He had come down from the blind rage he felt moments ago and as much as he felt Waters got what he deserved and as much as he wanted to exact justice, he did not want to see his battered body. He could hear the Russians rolling him up in the plastic that covered the basement floor. Sean thought they would struggle getting the body up the stairs, but they seemed to be alarmingly proficient. He wondered how many of Sandy’s prom dates left the house that way. They came back into the house from the garage. Pavel was a little out of breath. Sergei looked like he had just had a nap. He could probably run a marathon with Waters’ body strapped to his back, Sean thought.
“Throw these three into the basement.” Sergei commanded. Sean didn’t want to argue.
Sean and Pavel grabbed the dead mercenaries and pushed them into the basement. They slid down the stairs and all three landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Sean shone the light on their lifeless, broken bodies. He kept telling himself that they were here to kill him and that if he had not acted, he might be the one at the bottom of the stairs. Pavel saw him staring down at the bodies and gently pulled on his arm.
“Let’s go. We still have work to do.”
All three entered the garage. It still smelled of grass cut long ago. Soon the house would smell of death unless the bodies were discovered soon. The Russians sat up front and Sean sat in back with Waters’ bloody body. Pavel hit the garage door opener, but it didn’t work. No power.
“I should go shoot them again for making me get out and open this door myself!” He jumped out of the van, lifted the door and backed out of the garage. Closing the door, he got back in and headed out of the neighborhood. Sergei was examining a phone taken off of one of the mercenaries.
“Where are the cops?” Sean asked.
“They are not coming,” Sergei said, still examining the phone.
Sean didn’t respond. Surely, the houses next door heard the flash bangs? Certainly, they saw the muzzle flash from the gun battle in the house? Cops not coming? It made no sense. Sean also noticed that everything that had just transpired had no effect on him. His hands were not shaking. He was not sweating. He was not out of breath. Something had changed him, or maybe this is who he really is?
“Waters jumped off a bridge to his death tonight. Tragic. He had so much going for him,” Sergei said to Sean. They drove for thirty minutes and came to a dark bridge over a forgettable river in Virginia. Sergei and Pavel got out and pulled Waters’ body from the van, carried it to the edge of the bridge and tossed it over, holding on to the plastic. Waters’ body tumbled out of the plastic and hit the shallow water fifty feet below. Sean watched them from the back seat.
“They seem to have real issues with coyotes around here. Shame,” Pavel said, as he got back in the car.
“What are you going to do with the plastic?” Sean asked.
“Burn it,” Pavel answered.
Sean thought “Oh! Of course! Why, isn’t that obvious?” Sean wanted to look out the window and try to forget about everything that had transpired, but felt he couldn’t let his guard down. He kept his eyes glued on Sergei.
XV
I’m Sorry
A dive motel off of I-95
Early morning hours – Tuesday
Pavel drove south on I-95 for two hours, before stopping just after midnight. They chose a cheap motel. Pavel paid for the room. They would all be roommates. Sergei did not speak to Sean. As Pavel was walking towards the van, Sergei and Sean exited. Sergei carried the contents of Waters’ briefcase and the mercenary’s cell phone. Pavel opened the door and Sean saw that the room was worth every penny of the $19.99 Pavel paid for it. Wood paneling. Two double beds. Sink in the middle of the room against the far wall. Small bathroom in the back. The room smelled like dirty feet and Pine-sol. Sean tried to remember what that Dateline special had said about the dirtiest places in a hotel room. He gave up and came to the realization that it was all filthy.
Pavel sought out the bathroom and shut the door. Sergei opened his bag and tossed Sean two meal replacement bars.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll like them. I sell them in my shop.”
For some reason the comment struck him as crazy. It was a comment made by a regular guy, not someone who just beat a man to death with his bare hands. Sean opened a bar and took a bite.
“Good, right?” Sergei asked.
Sean just nodded as he chewed.
Sergei turned around to face a rickety desk that was up against the wall. He flipped on the lamp, placed Waters’ papers on the desk and the phone on top of them. He quickly discerned that no real intelligence was going to be extracted from the phone, but he did have a hunch on who sent the mercenaries after Waters. He was pretty certain they were not there for his team, just for Waters. Sean was an unpleasant surprise for the South Africans. Sergei kept looking through the papers, but his mind was on the young man sitting on the bed behind him. In all of his years, he had never seen a man move as fast as Sean. He was not only fast, but good with a gun and definitely an expert with a knife. Like his daughter, he felt sorry for the guy. From what he knew of the experiments, Sean could collapse at any minute. However, Sergei thought that if Sean had made it thi
s long, the chemicals they injected him with were not going to be the end of him. But then, Sergei was no doctor.
Pavel looked at Sean and said, “Get some sleep. We hit the road in two hours. We have a nine-hour drive in front of us. We need to be in Florida by early afternoon to visit a friend of Mr. Waters.”
Sean closed his eyes and was asleep in seconds. Pavel woke him after two hours. Sergei was still sitting at the desk. He turned around when he heard Sean stir.
“Sean, are you ready to go?”
“Sure.”
“Look, I am sorry for how I treated you. That was not right,” Sergei said, with sincerity in his voice.
Pavel nodded. He approved of the apology.
“Thank you, but don’t worry about it,” Sean said, running his hand through his hair.
“Good. The truck is out front. Let’s go,” Pavel said, clapping his hands and tossing Sean his backpack.
Pavel headed for the door followed by Sean. Pavel exited the room, but Sean stopped and turned towards Sergei.
“Don’t apologies get you thirty lashes in Spetsnaz?” Sean asked, with a smile. Sergei stood motionless for a second and then he smiled.
“Yes, but don’t tell anyone. It won’t happen again.” He let out the same laugh Sean had heard in the Nashville airport as he pushed past Sean. Sean closed the door behind them and turned to see a new, or what looked like a new, black G550 Mercedes SUV. Sean pointed at the truck. He imagined this was what Russian gangsters all drove – hand-built, armored SUVs.
“The van is gone!”
“Very good, Sean. My daughter said you were smart. I had no idea you were this bright,” Sergei said and both he and Pavel laughed. Pavel was still laughing as he got into the driver’s seat.
“You guys are really funny,” Sean said, as he walked around and climbed into the rear seat behind Pavel. Sergei stowed the gear in the trunk and sat up front with Pavel.
“Hey Sergei!” Pavel said, as he was backing out of the spot.
“What?”
“The van is gone!” Pavel said and started laughing all over again. Sean made a face. When Pavel laughed, it actually made him look even crazier. Something about the white goatee.
“OK. OK. Get it all out of your system. I thought you said Russians didn’t joke?” Sean asked and leaned forward.
“I was joking about that,” Sergei replied and turned to Pavel. Pavel laughed again.
“I see what’s going on here. He’s your Ed McMahon,” Sean chuckled.
“Who’s Ed McMa. Mcsomthing?” Pavel asked, glancing at Sergei.
“Some obscure American humor. Ignore him.”
Pavel merged onto an empty I-95 south. Sean sat in the back and looked out the window and pondered the last few hours. A new vehicle. The van gone. Sean had no clue who Sergei was working for. He obviously was hell bent on revenge and stamping out anyone who would harm his daughter, but there was more to it. A pissed-off dad doesn’t go through three vehicles in eight hours and have all kinds of communications equipment at his disposal. Oh, and don’t forget the guns. Was he working for the Russians? Sean had no idea. He was certain plenty of people wanted Waters and Price dead. Was Sergei a mercenary?
They had ridden in silence for nearly two hours when Pavel looked up at Sean’s reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Sergei says you are in advertising.”
“I was.”
“What did you advertise?”
“Restaurants mostly. I helped franchisees make the right decisions with their money.”
Pavel nodded, like he was processing it and was impressed.
“Why did you stop?”
“I was fired. My boss and I did not see things the same way and I told him what I thought.”
“His mistake, Sean,” Pavel replied, his voice full of sympathy.
“Thanks.”
Pavel paused and smiled a little.
“You want me to take care of him?” he asked in a low voice.
Sean burst out laughing. It was what Pavel wanted to hear. Sergei smiled slightly and continued typing into his phone. He had been furiously typing since they got on the highway.
“No! I do appreciate the offer. It is really tempting. He’s a real douche bag.”
Pavel smiled again and turned his attention to the road. Sean liked Pavel. They drove for another hour and stopped for a break and something to eat. Sean took over the driving duties and Pavel snoozed in the back.
“This is some truck,” Sean said, with both hands on the wheel.
“I suppose. Too much like a tank. I’d rather have a BMW,” Sergei responded, still typing on his phone.
“This is superior to a BMW.”
Sergei didn’t respond.
“What are you typing?”
“It is not your concern.”
“I think it is.” Sean snapped. Sergei knew Sean was right. He put the phone down.
“I am planning the assault on Price’s house in Florida.”
“When are we doing that?”
“Approximately eighteen hours. At high tide. The tide will be at its peak at approximately 2 A.M. In addition, there will be a storm coming in late tonight that will provide the cover we need to take him in his house. Pavel will disable his security system and the phones.”
“What am I doing?”
“We will be in a boat 900 meters off the coast. We will swim to shore, cross the beach, crawl through the dunes behind the house, cross the twenty meters of open ground from the dunes to his house, enter the house and kill him. We will return to the sea and swim back to the boat.”
“We?”
“I am coming.”
“I can’t swim,” Sean said.
“Please. You swam the same distance when you assassinated the Saudi.”
“I’m not OK with all of that,” Sean answered, frowning.
“Sean, you will need to come to terms with this. It happened. All of it was wrong. You did it against your will and the men who did this to you are going to be punished. You need to get your arms around what happened and move past it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“True. I still wrestle with the choices that I made and the things I did before I met Ana’s mother. It will take time.”
“I am guessing that you already have a boat for us.”
“Very astute. Yes. I have procured a boat that will suffice. It will be waiting when we arrive.”
“Are these all hook-ups from Cannondale or Trek?” Sean’s tone was on the sarcastic side of the street.
“I sell both, but no. The most I get out of them is a trip to the factory, Vegas or Moab for a weekend of mountain bike riding. You ride Sean?”
Sean just went with the change of subject. Boats. Cars. Guns. He felt like he was caught up in a Russian version of Miami Vice.
“I used to ride in the mountains around Morgantown. I actually have a Cannondale. A M700. It’s old. You would probably just want to hang it in your shop as an antique. I love it though.”
“Ana told me. Those are good bikes. Tough to ride with no suspension.”
“Not as nice as your daughter’s bike. It was something else.”
“Yes. Yes it is. She charged it to Waters American Express. I’d like to sell a couple of those,” Sergei responded and whistled.
“She said she needed to get it to keep up with you,” Sergei said, glancing over at Sean.
“I guess.”
“She told me about the OCD. Are you able to control it?”
“Some. The last 48 hours has satisfied the need to exercise.”
“I would think so,” Sergei responded.
“That bastard McFarland told me I had high cholesterol and had me on pills, but in reality it was medicine to blunt the effects of the OCD.”
“You have this medicine?” Sergei asked.
“I am sure your daughter packed it. She thought of everything else. Don’t worry, it does not effect my performance.”
“I am not worr
ied about that,” Sergei said, trailing off. He felt bad for pressing him. From what he had seen so far, Sean was certainly not a liability. He knew what Ana saw in him, which was going to make completing this assignment all the more difficult.
Sean drove for another couple of hours and they stopped again for more food and fuel. Sergei took over driving and took them the rest of the way to Daytona.
XVI
He Earned It
The World’s Most Famous Beach
Mid Afternoon – Tuesday