The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1)

by C. S. De Mel

  Bruce quickly cleared his personal space and left a pile of bodies in his wake. One gang member removed his belt and lashed it like a whip, trying to hit Santos. He ducked under the belt so that it hit the thug behind him instead. Bruce spotted the weapon and darted forward to address it. “Don’t try and get clever here, buddy!” He cranked him in the jaw with a heavy fist towards Varick, who grabbed him by the collar, swung him full circle, and tossed him at the legs of two other attackers. Bruce and Santos were now back to back, sending fists flying. A couple of Little Joey’s men who were on the ground tried to grab Bruce and Santos’ legs to immobilize them, but they were kicked away.

  Little Joey eyed the nearest snowmobile. He read the label along the front of the vehicle: the key number. He rushed to the bulletin board on the wall, where all the keys were hanging. He hastily scanned the board to find the correct key, grabbed it, then ran to the vehicle which was going to deliver him to freedom. Laura and Alex saw exactly what was going on. “Hey, guys!” Laura called. “You got a runner!”

  There were only three gang members left on their feet now. A three on three fight. Upon hearing Laura’s alert, Bruce’s gaze strayed from the fight and locked onto his new target. Of course it would have to be Little Joey.

  Joey sneered at Bruce from atop his snowmobile. “What, you think I’m dumb enough to stick around here and try to fight you?!”

  “You’re dumb enough to try and run!”

  “You got that right!” Joey stuck the key in the ignition and took off through the rear-end garage door.

  “Now that looks fun...” Bruce rushed over to the bulletin board. “Hey, finish up here, guys!” Bruce instructed to Varick and Santos. “I’m going after the little guy.” He matched a key to its snowmobile and took off after the leader.

  Little Joey accelerated down the slope, weaving in and out between evergreen trees. He surprised himself by how well he could maneuver the vehicle, being his first time on a snowmobile. The slope evened out into a wide sweeping snowfield, and the trees were becoming more concentrated. He could see that he was heading towards a forest. Even though it would provide excellent cover, there was no way he could bring his snowmobile in there. He decided he would skim the edge of the forest and follow alongside it. His ears suddenly became aware of another roaring engine—a second snowmobile in his proximity. He looked over his shoulder to see Kasparov closing in fast. Little Joey’s eyes bugged out. “Oh, son of a bitch!” He tried to pull some tricky maneuvers around trees, but Bruce met him every step of the way. He kept glancing back after each stunt he pulled, but nothing was working. In fact, his weaving only seemed to help close the gap between Bruce and himself.

  “You’re only making this harder for yourself, Little Joey!”

  Little Joey turned his head and gave Bruce a big sneer and the finger. He turned back to see himself on a collision path with a tree. “Shit!” He swerved frantically to avoid the crash and lost a great deal of speed. Bruce cut in and was mere feet away from Little Joey. Bruce leapt off his snowmobile and managed to tackle Little Joey off his. Down into the snow they went. Little Joey screamed out in frustration. “I hate you, Kasparov! I really hate you! I really f—”

  “Shaddaaap!” Bruce rubbed a big handful of snow all over Little Joey’s face. “Let me clean out your filthy mouth with pure white snow.”

  Little Joey coughed and spluttered. “Bastard!”

  ***

  Bruce returned to the warehouse on his snowmobile with Little Joey, whom he held in a headlock all the way up the hill. He was pleased to see that Varick and Santos had everything under control. The hands and feet of every gang member had been restrained with plastic zip ties (just one of the many things that Varick kept in the trunk of his car for crime-fighting fun).

  “You caught him. Nice job,” Laura said.

  “Was there any doubt?”

  Laura rolled her eyes. Bruce winked. “But thanks. You guys cleaned up here real nice as well. Laura, I take it you’ve already informed the local authorities about this shindig?”

  “Was there any doubt?”

  Bruce grinned. “None.” Bruce threw Little Joey onto the warehouse floor. “Now then. Talk. What did you want with all these snowmobiles?”

  Little Joey blinked and looked at him, dazed and confused. “I dunno. What I heard is that the big man Scorcher wanted to have a stockpile of them around for the wintertime. Just in case he got bored.”

  Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Bored?”

  “Yeah. He thought they might be fun. Apparently, he was trying to plan and organize a snowmobile race or something...I dunno. To be honest, I think he’s a little loco.”

  Bruce rubbed his face. “You think?” Bruce stretched his arms over his head and looked out through the garage door. “Whatever. I’m not going to try and pick that freak’s brain.” He glanced at Varick and Santos. “You two have anything to ask this guy?”

  “Nah, I think you already got everything we’re going to get out of him,” Varick replied.

  “Alrighty then.” He turned his attention to Laura and Alex. “So? What did you two learn?”

  Laura scratched her head. “Honestly? Not a damn thing.”

  “Alex?”

  Alex thought about the question for a moment. “Yeah, I’m gonna go with Laura on this one. You guys didn’t teach us anything—you three were just showing off.”

  Bruce grinned. “And therein lies the lesson. Get the job done and look good doing it.”

  ***

  Chapter 20 – Matters of the Heart

  Sunday, December 5th, 1999

  The Seaberg Lounge, Queens

  It was late in the afternoon. The Solly brothers were shooting the breeze at their table, with several plates of appetizers being shared between them. Their attention was caught by someone at the door who was creating a stir. He was drawing the stares and hushed murmurs of the patrons as he engaged the bouncer. Mark’s jaw dropped. “Is that...”

  “What the hell...” Lucas hastily pushed out his chair and rushed to the front with Mark. “Bobby, we’ll handle this,” said Lucas. The bouncer shrugged and stepped aside to give Lucas free rein. On closer inspection, the man at the door was indeed Zerneck Wells—but his face was horribly disfigured with bruises and welts. Dried blood stained his hairline and ran down the side of his head. “You’ve got some nerve,” Lucas muttered.

  “I need to see Jack.”

  Lucas shoved Zerneck. “The hell are you thinking, coming in here looking the way you do?”

  Zerneck gritted his teeth. “Where is he, Lucas?”

  Lucas pushed him again. “Outside. Right now. You’re gonna scare everyone away.” Mark and Lucas escorted Zerneck out of the lounge and directed him to the back entrance. Lucas unlocked the door and the three of them went inside. There was a seat behind the desk and a single folding chair leaning against the wall, but all three chose to stand. The Solly brothers stared at Zerneck without saying a word. Keeping his gaze fixed on Wells, Lucas pulled out his cell and dialled his father’s direct line. “Pops, it’s Lucas. Wells just showed up here at Seaberg.” Wells watched anxiously while Lucas spoke to Solly. His fate was about to be decided by this one call. “Uh-huh, yeah, the office. He wants to see you. Okay, see you soon.” Lucas cut the call. “He’s on his way.”

  ***

  Within twenty minutes, the office door opened. Wells and the Solly brothers had been waiting patiently in complete silence. Jack Solly stood framed in the door way. His eyes first locked onto his sons and then to Wells. He walked in without saying a word and sat down behind his rickety desk. He placed his hands on his desk and studied Wells. “You should be physically dead or dead to us because you’ve turned traitor. You have one minute to explain yourself before you’re dead on both counts.”

  Wells inhaled deeply, which triggered a raspy cough. He held his side, clearly in pain. “I never turned on you, Jack. Never. They captured me right outside First Bank.”

  “Who did?”

>   “Scorcher’s men—and Brody. Brody was the traitor, not me. They held me for days...weeks...putting me through unending torture. Hell, I don’t even know what day it is.”

  “They kept you alive all this time?”

  “They wanted information. But I didn’t give them anything. I kept feigning to be weaker than I really was after every beating. When they thought I was completely subdued, I still had something left. They eventually got sloppy, and I managed to escape by the skin of my teeth today. I knew the first thing I had to do was see you, Jack.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I have a vehicle outside. I stole it from their lot.”

  Jack stared at Wells. He opened his drawer and pulled out a box-cutter. He pushed out his chair and slowly walked up to Wells while extending the blade on the knife. He stood in front of him. Wells watched him, breathing hard. He tried to maintain eye contact but found himself constantly looking down at the knife in Jack’s hand. Jack gently held Wells by the chin. He brought the knife up to the side of Wells’ face. Wells swallowed nervously, but didn’t move. He was perspiring from his forehead now. Jack gently turned Wells’ head to the left and then to the right, examining him. He rested the knife on the top button of Wells’ tattered shirt. Then, with one swift stroke, Jack brought the knife all the way down Wells’ shirt, cutting off the buttons. Jack nudged his shirt open with the box-cutter to reveal all the bruising and gashes that had been inflicted upon Wells.

  “Scorcher’s men did this to you?”

  Wells nodded. Jack retracted the knife and pocketed it, to Wells’ relief. He turned his back to Wells, then walked over to his desk and placed his hands on it. “There’s just one thing that I find curious, Wells... If Brody was the traitor, then why did Turly kill him?”

  Wells stared. “What?”

  “You didn’t hear? Turly had a confrontation with Brody. He’s likely the one that killed him. Oswalt retrieved Turly’s bladed pen from the crime scene—the one that left puncture wounds in Brody’s hand. We’ve already dealt with Turly, but unfortunately, he gave us no information. So, again I ask...if they were on the same side, why did Brody and Turly come to blows?”

  When Zerneck had fingered Brody as the traitor, he was actually considering saying he was the one that killed him to earn some points with Solly. Thank god he didn’t. Wells blinked, thinking fast. “This is all I know: Brody betrayed me. If Turly killed him, something must have gone wrong, or they had no more use for him.” Just keep your composure, you know Jack, Wells told himself. “Jack, I swear to you that’s what happened. Come on, you know me. How many years have I been loyal to you?”

  Jack studied Wells. Finally, he nodded. “Okay, Wells. I believe you...”

  Did he feel bad for betraying them? In truth, maybe a little. You don’t spend years with someone and not gain some sort of attachment. But in the end, it was just a job, and he had gotten a better offer. And if he were a gambling man, he would place his bets with Tony Calzone and Scorcher. He could feel the reins of power slipping from Jack’s grasp, despite outward appearances. Like a supergiant star, growing bigger and bigger while burning through all of its resources...until finally destroying itself. Jack was a smart man, but he liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. He was too trusting. He could not afford such a flaw in this line of work. Zerneck Wells knew this.

  ***

  Tuesday, December 7th, 1999

  A lone woman was seated at a table inside a seedy bar. On her table was a bottle of wine and a half-empty wine glass. She picked up the glass, slowly swirling the drink in her hand. She took a long sip, then set the glass back down. She was waiting for someone.

  Ulysses Frost and Hachiuma walked into the bar. The intimidation factor of their combined presence turned several heads.

  “Point her out to me,” Hachiuma instructed.

  Frost’s eyes scanned through the dingy lighting. His gaze stopped on the lone woman. He pointed his finger. “Her.”

  Hachiuma nodded. “I’ll take it from here.” Frost stood by the door with his arms folded in front of him while Hachiuma walked over to the woman. He pulled out the empty chair opposite the woman and sat down at her table. Hachiuma watched her and waited until she looked up at him to acknowledge his presence. “You are Corey’s mother...”

  She nodded solemnly. Her long dark hair fell over her face. “Is my son coming here?”

  Hachiuma shook his head. “No. But rest assured, he is quite safe. If he remains that way is entirely up you. Tell me your name.”

  The women stared at him with a mixture of fear and anger. She picked up her wine glass and drained it. She then placed the empty glass on the table and relaxed. “Lorna.”

  “Lorna...” Hachiuma smiled. He lifted the wine bottle and refilled her glass. “Lorna...Kasparov. Do you know what your son does for a living?”

  “He’s involved with the mob.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Every mother’s dream.”

  “He’s not quite there yet. He’s part of a street gang. A lowly gang-banger—a grunt. He’s nothing. This street gang your son is affiliated with is within our sphere of control. From the moment he joined it, his life became ours to do with as we please. Do you understand this, Lorna?” She was staring down into her glass. “Look at me.” She forced herself to look into Hachiuma’s soulless eyes. “He won’t escape... He can’t.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Information. Tell me about Bruce Kasparov.”

  Lorna scoffed. “There’s nothing to tell. I have nothing to do with him. That part of my life is over.”

  “Yes, you two separated many years ago. But during the time you were with him, he was with the Legion...am I correct?”

  “From the time I knew him, he was always a part of that. First and foremost.”

  “Did you two live together?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Where?”

  “In a mansion...” She shook her head bitterly. “What more could a woman ask for? But even that came from the Legion. It was our house, but it was never a home.”

  Hachiuma licked his lips. His eagerness was welling inside him and sparked a glow in his eyes. He stared hungrily at her. He was very close to what he wanted—he could almost taste it. “Where?” Lorna eyed Hachiuma, puzzled. “The location of the Legion manor. Where is it located?”

  She hesitated. “Why do you want to know?”

  “You know what I am. You know why I want to know. Now tell me.”

  Lorna bit her lip. “I-I can’t.” She shook her head while looking at Hachiuma, almost as if pleading with him. “I can’t.”

  Hachiuma opened and closed his right hand on the table. His expression was intense. Very intense. “Do you love your son Corey?”

  Lorna’s eyes were watering. “Y-yes.”

  “Then you do not have a choice in this matter. Tell me what I want to know.”

  She involuntarily swallowed as her trepidation mounted—her heart was racing. Hachiuma leaned across the table, his face right next to hers. He waited...until finally, she leaned in and whispered into Hachiuma’s ear. His eyes glowed. He stood up and pushed the chair in. “It goes without saying, that you tell no one about what was discussed here. If you try to contact Bruce, we’ll know. I hope for your sake and your son’s, that we never have to meet again.” Hachiuma stopped by the door to briefly talk with Ulysses, then they both set off into the night.

  Lorna sat in her seat alone, her shaking hand clasping the empty wine glass. As much as she learned to hate Bruce over the years, you can never really erase or forget feelings—only bury them with new ones. And to her sorrow, she found these old feelings being unearthed. This was a man in another life that she cared about deeply. A man she once loved. And then it all turned poisonous. She looked down into her empty glass as a tear rolled down her cheek. I’m sorry, Bruce... I never was as strong as you. She buried her face in her hands and broke down.

  ***

  Wednesday, December 8th, 1999r />
  “I’m surprised to find you both sitting here,” Santos stated.

  “And what’s surprising about it?” Bruce asked. “By the way, Alex, you can’t castle through check.”

  “What? Oh right, your annoying bishop.” Alex returned his king and rook to their original positions. The three of them were seated in the living room—father and son engaged in a game of chess, with Santos spectating.

  “Usually on a weekday evening, you two are barricaded down in the gym,” Santos replied.

  “True. But Alex has been through the wringer the last few weeks. I thought this would allow for a nice break.”

  Alex scoffed. “Yeah, instead of being trounced in training, it’s now on a chessboard.” He hesitantly moved a pawn forward to attack Bruce’s bishop.

  “Oh ho-ho, that was a mistake.” Bruce retreated his bishop, simultaneously moving it to a protected square and launching a counterattack. “Opened yourself up for a nice little skewer.”

  Alex squinted at the board and took a second to grasp the perilous situation he was in. “Can I take my move back?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Oh c’mon, this isn’t even fair. At least give me a chance, I’m still learning the game!”

  “Nope-nope-nope, there shall be no chance!” Bruce smirked. “Now, if I go easy on you, how are you going to get better, hmm?”

  Alex sighed. “Fine.” Alex moved his queen to safety, but gave up his knight. “I hate this game.”

  “Don’t get discouraged, Alex. Just keep playing. Learn from your mistakes and you’ll improve,” Santos advised optimistically.

  “You want to play him next game, Mr. Santos? Are you better than my dad?”

  Santos scratched his chin. “Well, it’s hard to say. I mean, we both learned the game from your Uncle Charlie when we were kids. I think I could put up a decent fight.”