by Dale Brown
The guard nodded, smiled slightly as if Kazakov had just given him a compliment, and continued to scan for intruders. Kazakov snorted his contempt and went to use the lavatory. Big dumb Norseman, he thought. Why did Iceland even bother to have a military? Who would ever attack Iceland"? And why would they not assign him a guard that spoke Russian, if for no other reason than to collect any possible intelligence? The guard checked the men's room first, then allowed Kazakov to enter.
Kazakov had just turned on the tap to wash his hands when the guard came back in to check on him. "I will be out in a moment, you big dumb Viking," he said in Russian. "Can't I even-?"
A hand grabbed his throat and spun him around. Kazakov was suddenly face-to-face with the biggest, meanest, most chiseled man he had ever seen. His nose looked as if it had been smashed several times, and he looked much older, but his steel-blue eyes burning with pure hatred could have belonged to a youngster. Kazakov tried to pry
the man's hand off his throat, but he couldn't budge the fingers one millimeter.
"Good morning, Comrade Kazakov," the man said in English. "Having a nice game?" The fingers around his neck squeezed, not allowing any sound to escape. "My name is Master Sergeant Christopher Wohl, United States Marine Corps, Retired. I have a message for you from General Patrick McLanahan." Kazakov's eyes bugged when he heard that name ...
... but they bulged even more when the commando held up a four-inch-long double serrated-edge T-bar push knife.
The knife easily pierced Kazakov's jacket, then his flesh, and then his diaphragm, twice, with two fast, powerful thrusts, filling the Russian drug dealer's lungs with blood. "Those are for my two men your friend Jadallah Zuwayy tortured to death." He raised the blood-soaked knife, showing the glistening wet blade to Kazakov. "And this is for Dr. Wendy McLanahan." And he plunged the knife into Kazakov's neck and slashed sideways, nearly slicing the neck in two.
The Icelandic guard stepped into the men's room just as Wohl let the blood-covered body drop to the floor. Wohl calmly took off his bloody jacket and dropped it too.
The two commandos looked at each other for a long moment; then Wohl said in Russian, "Fa abasralsa na vannaya. Prasteetye. I really fucked up your bathroom. Sorry."
"Suhadrochka. Nye za shta. Fseevo samava loochsheva," the Icelandic commando replied in perfect, fluent Russian. He handed Wohl his own clean overcoat-it fit him very well. "No problem. Don't mention it. Have a nice day."