“Do not fucking move. You each have a weapon pointed at your back. Nod if you understand,” he said, and both of them nodded quickly.
Daniel Petrovich appeared in the hallway, near the elevator vestibule. The light-haired man turned his head an inch, and Melendez could tell that the dark-haired operative had seen him. His pistol hand tensed. He probably recognized Daniel from the bar. This had the potential to go south really fast if Munoz didn’t take control of the situation.
“That man is one of ours. You’ve been under surveillance all afternoon. Listen to me very closely. You will drop your weapons to the floor. Simply release them from your grip. On three. You will not get a second chance to do this. One. Two. Three.”
One of the guns clattered to the carpeted floor. The other remained in the dark-haired man’s grip. Melendez shifted his aim and fired a bullet through the man’s right elbow. The bullet passed through his arm and lodged in the door, spraying the soft, salmon-colored paint with bright red arterial spray from his brachial artery. The suppressed gunshot had the desired effects, dropping the second gun to the carpet and stopping a more lethal chain of events.
Melendez kicked the man against the door, further stunning him, and yanked him back. He locked his arm around the man’s neck and placed the end of the suppressor behind his ear.
“The next one goes through your skull,” he whispered.
Munoz pulled the light-haired operative to the side and pushed him into the wall, giving Daniel room to pass. He turned to room 1812, withdrew another key card from his pocket, and approached the blood-splattered door, glancing down at the pool of blood at his feet.
“Nice mess. A little trigger happy tonight?” Daniel said, inserting the card while furtively glancing in both directions down the hallway.
“He was a fraction of a second from making it a whole lot worse,” Melendez replied.
Inserting the key card, Daniel opened the door and stepped inside the vestibule, ready to draw his pistol.
“Is Mr. Young still breathing?” Daniel asked.
“He’s fine, but you need to take him off my hands before I start cutting,” Jessica replied from another room.
Upon hearing Jessica’s comment, Melendez glanced at Munoz and smiled, but his partner didn’t look happy. Glancing at the mess on the door and the blood still pumping onto the carpet, he wasn’t surprised. There was no way they could wipe this clean enough to avoid unwanted attention. The hallway carpet contained deep red patterns, which helped; however, the carpet pattern was symmetrical and the bloodstains were irregularly spaced. Only the most intoxicated or oblivious hotel guest would walk by without wondering whether Hannibal Lecter was waiting behind the door for them.
Melendez followed Daniel into the room, forcibly shoving the gunman against the wall next to the bathroom doorway, searching him for a second weapon. Munoz followed at a safe distance behind with the second man. Melendez found a small knife strapped to his ankle, along with a wallet, car keys and a cell phone in his trouser pockets. His jacket held two additional magazines for one of the semiautomatic pistols that Munoz had kicked inside of the room when Daniel opened the door. Melendez threw all of these items onto the nearby table while Munoz kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe.
“Give me a hand here. I need to tie off this arm, or we’ll lose him. The bullet hit an artery.”
Daniel emerged from the bedroom doorway to help.
“Keep him covered,” Munoz said, handing the pistol to Daniel.
Melendez reached into his right pocket and fished out a black plastic zip tie restraint. He placed the zip tie around the wounded man’s lower bicep area and connected the plastic coupling. He pulled the tie as tightly as possible, causing the man to scream in agony. The steady stream of blood had slowed, but still poured onto the floor. He braced the man’s arm against the wall and yanked on the end of the zip tie again, putting all of his strength into pulling the thick plastic band tighter. The man reached around with his free hand, but Daniel was there to grab it and jam his pistol into the back of his neck. Melendez backed up and examined the blood trickling down the man’s hand. The flow had stopped, which would give them some time to extract information, or do whatever Daniel had planned for him.
Daniel grabbed the man’s jacket collar and pulled him into the sitting area, throwing him down onto one of the tan couches. He handed Melendez the pistol and pulled his own out of the concealed holster along his waist. Munoz covered the two men while Daniel took a few seconds to screw a short suppressor onto the threaded barrel.
“I hope you brought some cleaning supplies,” Daniel said, nodding toward the door.
Munoz tossed the second man onto the same couch and replied, “We have a kit in the other room. We’ll do what we can with the mess, and I’ll stay in the other suite to keep an eye on the hallway. We have enough neurotoxin to knock out the entire floor if necessary. Shouldn’t be an issue.”
“Perfect. We’ll get things started in here,” Daniel said.
Melendez appreciated his partner’s calm attitude about the situation. Neither of them said a word as they exited the room, careful not to step in the massive dark red stain in front of Suite 1812. Munoz immediately opened the door to Suite 1811 and disappeared, leaving Melendez to close the door to 1812. When he turned to face the door, he grimaced. What a fucking mess.
“Grab the big towels from the bathroom,” he said.
**
Daniel stepped over to the sitting area and pulled one of the plush taupe wing chairs away from the large coffee table in front of the couch, dragging it against the wall behind him. He pushed the other chair to the side and kicked the small round end table out of the way, knocking it against a smaller chair near the conference table. The Buckhead Suite offered three distinctly separate living areas for the discerning business guest: a spacious bedroom with a glass enclosed, marble shower; a sitting area occupied by two terrorists, one of whom was grievously wounded and ruining the furniture; and a conference area, featuring a mahogany table with seating for six. Mr. Young certainly spared no expense while he was in town.
“Bring out tonight’s guest of honor,” Daniel said.
Jessica wrenched a ruffled, despondent-looking Benjamin Young through the bedroom door and jammed him into the wing chair against the wall. Daniel backed up a few steps toward the conference table and pointed the pistol at Young.
“If you try to get out of that seat, the young lady here will stab you through your armpit all the way to your heart. The blade’s long enough, right?” he said.
Young looked torn, like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to respond.
“It might be an inch short. You can talk now. I give you permission,” Jessica said, standing next to him.
Daniel winked at her, when he thought Young was distracted.
“I saw that. All right, all right. Enough already. You guys got me good. Seriously. I’m fucking freaked out of my mind right now. Whoever put you up to this earned their fucking money tonight. This is by far the best joke ever. Really. Can you tell I’m freaked out? No need to continue. I’ll pay you double to call it quits,” Young said, starting to get up from the chair.
Jessica turned the knife in her hand and brought the end of the handle down on his face, shattering the cartilage in his nose and splitting his top lip. Young shrieked and dropped back into the chair.
“My fucking face! What the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck are you people? I told you this was over!” he screamed.
“Lower your voice,” Daniel said.
He nodded at Jessica, who immediately raised the knife in front of Young, causing him to cower in the chair, flailing his hands above him in a sad, useless display.
When he spoke again, he whispered. “Look, whatever is happening here…it doesn’t have to happen. I have a lot of money, and I can access even more if necessary. I guarantee I can double or triple what you’re being paid now.”
“I’m not being paid anything,”
Daniel said. He turned to Ben and Jerry. “Are either of you being paid?”
Neither of the men answered, prompting Daniel to aim at the dark-haired man’s head.
“Are either of you receiving a fat paycheck to be here tonight?” Daniel asked.
“Fuck you. I’m not saying a word,” Dark Hair replied.
Daniel fired a single Hydra-Shok hollow-point round through the man’s head, snapping it back against the top of the couch. A dark red stain splashed the tan curtain panel behind him, rustling the thick material. The light-haired man scooted away from his now deceased friend, struggling to move with his hands tied behind his back.
“Oh fuck,” Young whimpered. “He did not just kill that guy. This is a joke, right? He did not—”
Daniel turned his head and arm at the same time, firing a bullet into the wall less than six inches from Young’s head. The suppressor reduced the gunshot to a subsonic crack. Jessica gasped. Young’s face went blank as he examined the damaged drywall near his head.
“Holy shit,” he whispered and closed his eyes.
“Did I shatter the window?” Daniel asked, turning back to the couch.
Daniel hadn’t heard the glass shatter, but he couldn’t be sure. The decision to kill Dark Hair had been a last-second decision. He could tell by the man’s defiant expression that he’d be nothing but trouble during the interrogation. His light-haired accomplice looked a little softer. The man stared at him quizzically.
“You don’t like to talk either?” Daniel asked, raising the pistol again.
“No. No. I’ll talk. You asked about the window. I didn’t hear it shatter. I didn’t hear anything like that,” Light Hair pleaded.
“I hope not. If the police arrive before I’m finished, they’ll need at least two SERVPRO teams in here to scrape you off the walls.”
“It didn’t shatter. I think I would have heard that happen. Yes. I know I would have heard that happen.”
“You’re sure? Sure enough to bet your life on it?”
“Yes. No. We’re good,” he said.
“I hope so. Next question. How many more can we expect?” Daniel asked.
“What?”
“You’re either purposely ignoring me, or you’re scared out of your mind. Either way, it’s starting to piss me off,” Daniel said, closing the distance to the couch while pointing the pistol at the man’s head.
“I can’t concentrate with a gun to my head.”
“Really? You came here to put a gun to Mr. Young’s head, but this bothers you? I’m done repeating questions. Are you and your dead partner working alone, or can I expect amateur hour to continue?”
“We’re working alone. We weren’t expecting any obstacles,” the man replied.
Daniel walked over to the conference table and removed both of the wallets. He glanced at the driver’s licenses. Both of the men carried South Carolina licenses. Theodore Kindler sat before him on the couch, still breathing for now.
“Ted? Theo? I like Theo. Let’s get the introductions out of the way. Benjamin Young, meet Theodore Kindler. He was sent here to put a bullet through your head.”
“Come on, guys. This is crazy. Did my wife hire these guys?” Young said.
“She should have,” Jessica snapped.
“I couldn’t agree more, but this goes way deeper than your extracurricular activities. Would you care to explain this to him, Theo? Tell him why you’re here to kill him?”
Theodore Kindler opened his mouth, but the words faltered. He wore a painful look, torn between preventing his own death and maintaining loyalty.
“Don’t know where to start? I’d be happy if you simply identified your organization. That’ll be enough to keep your brains off the curtains,” Daniel said.
“I really can’t—”
“Yes, you can. I already know the answer. I just want him to hear it from you. Three. Two. One…”
“True America,” he grunted, looking disgusted and frightened.
“True America? Why would they want me dead? I’m about to close a deal worth a healthy sum of money for their organization,” Young said perplexedly.
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Daniel said snidely. “True America is up to something big. Much bigger than a campaign announcement or a string of expensive primetime television ads. Big enough to start tying up loose ends. By our estimation, you’re one of the biggest. We took down the first assassination team in New York. You’re looking at the substitutes.”
“Jesus Christ. What about my family? Who’s watching them right now?” Young asked.
He tried to stand up again, but didn’t get more than three inches off the chair before Jessica’s knife appeared at his throat. He sat back down, and Jessica eased the knife away.
“What about my family?” he hissed at Kindler.
“Answer the man,” Daniel ordered.
“Our mission didn’t involve your family,” Kindler said.
Young didn’t look convinced. His face showed an unsure anger that Daniel knew had already turned Young against True America.
“If these are the bad guys, why am I being forced to sit in this chair with a knife to my throat?” Young asked.
“Because I haven’t decided which side you’re on. True America wants you dead. We need to figure out exactly why this is the case. Until then, your brains are just as likely to hit the wall as Theo’s,” Daniel said.
“This is unfucking-real. After all I’ve done for Greely and the rest of those rednecks, they turn around and stab me in the back like this. Fuck them! I’ll tell you everything I know. I have records, all kinds of shit. I’m good at covering my ass. We’re talking detailed records. I’ve been diverting large amounts of money earmarked for True America’s D.C. office to Greely and Harding. The fuck if I know what they’re doing with it.”
“Apparently, they used some of it to hire contract killers,” Daniel said.
Kindler lurched forward on the couch in a useless gesture of anger, bringing the full attention of Daniel’s pistol to his face. Daniel simply shook his head, and Kindler settled back into the blood-soaked couch.
“None of you get it,” Kindler said. “We’re not being paid. We’re part of the revolution to put America back on the right path. There are hundreds of us. Soon to be thousands…”
One of the cell phones on the conference table vibrated, shaking the car keys. Daniel stared at Kindler and examined his response. He wasn’t pleased with what he could read on the man’s face. Kindler managed to keep his eyes off the table, but the strain was evident.
“Expecting a call?” Daniel asked.
“It’s probably just a standard checkin.”
“With whom?” Daniel replied.
“I really can’t say,” Kindler said, avoiding eye contact.
Daniel shot Jessica a glance, which she returned without changing her expression. They were prepared to evacuate the room at a moment’s notice.
“Mr. Young, do you have remote access to these records?”
“Most of them. We’d have to visit my office in D.C. to access some of the deeper account specifics. We don’t have remote access for regulatory reasons. What are you looking for?”
“Anything related to True America, directly or indirectly.”
“And you’ll let me go if I give you everything?”
“I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Daniel said.
“Can you protect my family? Is there a witness protection program or something?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when you provide us with the information,” Daniel said.
“How do I know you won’t just kill me?”
“This may sound kind of cliché, but you don’t.”
“That’s reassuring,” Young said.
The cell phone stopped buzzing, which caused Daniel to glance in the direction of the small pile of wallets, pistol magazines, cell phones and keys in the middle of the table Less than a second later, the second phone started to vibrate, whic
h didn’t surprise him in the least. He didn’t need to look at Kindler’s panicked face to figure out what would happen next. Theodore Kindler launched forward, successfully propelling himself off the couch and onto the coffee table, careening desperately toward Daniel with his hands behind his back.
Daniel extended his hand and fired a single round through his face, stepping aside as momentum and gravity carried the corpse into Benjamin Young. The dead weight slammed into Young, momentarily pinning him to the wing-back chair before sliding to the floor. Kindler left a considerable portion of his head in Young’s lap, causing him to instantly vomit a brownish-yellow stream onto the lifeless human pile at his feet. He turned his head to the side of the chair opposite of Jessica and vomited again.
“We need to move. Prep Mr. Young for immediate departure. Make sure we have all of his electronics,” he said and sprinted for the door.
Munoz nearly stumbled into the room when Daniel yanked the door open. He held a bloody towel in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. The air reeked of bleach solution. Melendez was on his hands and knees scrubbing a soapy liquid into the carpet.
“We’ve got company. Unknown disposition. We need to move Young to a more secure location. Do you need anything from your room?”
“Just our backpacks. Spare magazines, money, ID. The essentials,” Munoz replied.
“Grab the packs, and cover the hallway. Both directions. We’ll be ready to move in fifteen seconds,” Daniel said.
He grabbed one of the killer’s discarded pistols from the tile floor bathroom and took two magazines from the conference table. He considered grabbing their cell phones and wallets, but decided against it. Their mission was to secure Benjamin Young, or more importantly, any useful information he could provide. He returned to the sitting area to find Young on his feet, vigorously wiping his face with a wet towel. Jessica snatched the towel out of his hand.
“You look beautiful again,” she said and pushed him toward the door.
Black Flagged Apex Page 31