“Second thoughts?” I asked.
“How do I know you won’t take my money and run?”
“All I have left is my word,” I said.
She considered it, then fished a roll of bills from her purse. When she was counting, I put my hand on her leg.
Thor smiled at me.
“I didn’t think you were into me,” she said. “Finish the job, and then I’ll throw in a little bonus for you.”
“I just need to finish my other job first,” I told her.
“I understand.”
My hand moved down her knee, found the revolver, and tugged it out.
With the windows closed I doubt anyone heard the gunshots, even though they were loud enough to make my ears ring.
I took the cash, hit the button to recline Thor’s seat until she was out of sight, and rolled down her window. I hated to let the heat in, but the glass was conspicuously spattered with her blood, and I didn’t need to make any more mistakes. Then I pulled out of the parking lot and got back on the highway, heading south.
Jordan had told me, over the phone, that I’d find Thor working the Eau Claire off ramp. He said to dump the body somewhere up the road, then meet him in the morning. The few hours wait were so he could establish an alibi.
A few miles up the road I pulled over, yanked Thor out of the car, and got behind the wheel again before another car passed. Then I grabbed the box of baby wipes in the back seat. As I drove I cleaned up my hands, then the passenger side of the vehicle. There wasn’t too much of a mess. Small gun, small holes. I was lucky Thor got in the car at all, after spying the gun I’d sloppily left in plain sight. Stupid move on my part.
Hers, too.
When I reached Eau Claire I headed to where I thought Jordan would be. He’d be angry to see me so soon, but that wouldn’t last very long. Just until I shot him in the head.
I had nothing against Jordan. I had nothing against Thor, either. But a deal is a deal, and as I told the lady, all I had left was my word.
MEET JOE KONRATH
J.A. Konrath is the author of the Lt. Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels mysteries. He also writes horror under the name Jack Kilborn, and erotica under the name Melinda DuChamp. Joe has sold over two million books worldwide.
Visit him at www.JAKonrath.com.
STEALING THE BAND
by
J. H. BOGRÁN
Cuba, summer of 1973
This mission will make the world a better place, or so that’s how CIA master spy convinced Ivan to do it. The balance of power must be kept. They’ve been saying the same lines since the end of World War II, and what do they have to show for it after thirty years? Not a damn thing.
Codenamed “The Band,” the sub was a flat oval-shaped two-seater that could sneak into the coast of the United States. To prove the sub’s skills, they had painted it a hard-to-hide bright yellow. According to the techs, the machine looked like a stingray when underwater, albeit a huge one. Stingray. Now that was a codename, not Band. But hell, if those mad technicians were right, the thing was so small and maneuverable it could swim up the Potomac River and fire a missile at the White House from spitting distance.
“Band on the run,” said Alyona in the P.A. system.
Ivan looked up from his post where he monitored the sub’s fuel levels. The control room was a big square with high ceilings. The far wall at the front showed a blown-up map of Cuba and the southernmost part of the Florida peninsula. A red line marked the path Band had to follow today, just a quick run back and forth to Key West. The officer in charge of updating the map moved the scaled version of the Band from the Havana coast and inched it away across the first leg of the journey.
There were four lines, each consisting of five workstations. They received a direct radio feed and telemetry from the boat and monitored all: trajectory, fuel consumption, speed. Ivan’s station was the last one, not that they thought fuel was the least of their worries, but it sure comes second when carrying a live nuclear device, no matter how small, the nuke got priority.
The room’s usual loud environment had quieted down to whispers. Even the regular beeps, whines, and chirps of the electronic equipment were more distinct now. Computers were loud machines. Why couldn’t they make them purr?
Alyona broke the silence again with another update. “Band will go into radio silence in two minutes. Two minutes for radio silence.”
Ivan checked the gauges on his work station and did a fast calculation. The sub would take about forty-five minutes to reach Key West, circle around and reach one predetermined spot near the A1 highway and break to the surface. A Soviet agent posted there will take photographs, proof to the politicians that the ruse had achieved its goals. The return trip would be longer due to the currents. All summed up, he’d be in his chair for at least another two hours. No bathroom breaks. Nobody dared to take breaks during such trials. Also the sub’s fuel supply would be more than enough.
The CIA had recruited Ivan right out of high school. They said his ability to learn new languages had brought him to their attention, but he thought it also had to do with his ability to act on a stage. Turns out, the school’s theater coach had recommended him. He had done three tours of Moscow. Each time he had gotten a separate set of documents to prove his identity, backgrounds, and even standing with the Communist Party. He didn't know how the CIA had pulled it off, but his documents were authentic. He had plenty of time to compare them with his mates and he knew they would pass every inspection. The first two missions were mostly reconnaissance of the typical soviet style of living. He had been assigned to Moscow to live on the good graces of the coupons he received from the Government. That meant he had gone bed with an empty stomach more than a few nights. Maybe they were preparing him to look the part of a career officer who wouldn’t have to fake the look of starvation in his past.
He had just gotten back from the U.S.R.R. when they turned him around. This time they had shipped him off with documents proving him to be Ivan Petrov, and right away he had been moved to Cuba to work on the development of The Band. According to his file, he had experience calculating fuel consumption and elapsed time in such demanding areas as space travel. Cosmonauts were in vogue since the American lunar landing six years before.
He had worked in Cuba the past six months. The previous day he had received his final directive: steal the damn vessel and come home. The last part of the message came garbled. He worried he was missing something important, but couldn't get back and ask without endangering his cover. Important bits were always at the top of the message while supplemental information came at the end, so he calculated he wasn't missing any important. He had a small two-way radio secreted into a book. He had been ordered to get rid of it, but instead of destroying it, Ivan had taken out several pieces to damage its functionality, and then hid it into the room of another person. He figured his room would be searched after it became clear he had stolen the submarine, so hiding the radio would buy him some time by creating doubts and misdirection.
Alyona announced the start of the radio silence, then settled to mark the time every five minutes. The map got updated every time her alluring voice sounded. She was tall, and her heavy breasts had not diminished under the rigors of the uniformed life. In a word, voluptuous. It had taken all of four months to charm her. The competition was deadly, but Ivan had prevailed. It took a special skill to woo a beautiful woman. Ivan was not skilled at all, but he was gentle, not bad looking, and above all, he treated her as a person and not an object. They said people are more honest after sex. There may be some truth to it. He hadn’t told Alyona he was a spy, but asked her to escape with him as they shared a cigarette. Awful stuff! He couldn’t wait to return to the U.S. and get some Camels. But first they had to steal a boat.
He felt the weight of a hand dropped on his shoulder. “How are we doing, Ivan? Is the Band going to make it back?”
The deep-throaty voiced belonged to Eleanor Smith. A lonely but super intelligent woman
who had migrated from Britain to the Soviet Union thinking the communists would respect her for her brain and not her tits. Mother Russian welcomed her with open arms and an open deep pocket to fund her projects, at least one of them. The sub was her design, her baby.
“The band has ample supply, Major Smith.” The Soviets had also given her a military rank.
“Good. You stare at Comrade Alyona too long instead of at your fuel levels,” she whispered.
“Um, no Major, I don’t do that.”
“Then I suggest you stop blushing.”
He lowered his gaze back to his console. No point in arguing. It was not a formal reprimand or Major Smith would have made sure it got to his records. Ivan just needed to survive the rest of the day.
The hours ticked away with turtle speed. Ivan sweated despite the cool air conditioner. His hands had a slight tremor when he typed. He blamed the adrenaline. Finally, the Alyona announced the return of the vessel to the Cuban station.
“The mission was a success,” announced Major Smith and the rows of officers responded with a loud cheer. “Now, the time to celebrate has arrived. The superiors sent the finest vodka for just this occasion.”
They cheered even louder. Ivan didn’t know about the celebration, but welcomed the news. It’d give the crew a distraction so he and Alyona could sneak into the bay to steal the Band. People would assume they had gone to bed and wouldn’t be looking for them until the next day. That gave them a good ten hour window. Goodbye Cuba!
* * *
The people partied like there was no tomorrow, even past midnight. It was unusual to get free booze so they milked it to the top.
A quarter past twelve Ivan approached Alyona who was chatting with a group of secretaries and whispered in her ear. “Let’s go now and we’ll have breakfast at MacDonalds.”
Her eyes lit up and she nodded. They sneaked out discretely, she excused herself to the ladies room and he went out without telling a soul. Men don’t announce their nature calls.
They walked the length of a long hall. At the end they entered a door to the right and descended two flights of stairs. After another longer tunnel, they reached a large metal gate. The gate served for bulky equipment, but pedestrians could enter through a regular door cutout in one of the gate tails. It was locked.
“Now what?” She asked. “They never lock this door.”
“Hey, a lock isn’t going to stop us.” His training at spy boot camp included weapons, hand-to-hand combat, and some other questionable skills like hot-wiring vehicles and picking locks.
He didn’t have tools but he removed a bobbin pin from Alyona’s bun. Her black hair fell down and she whipped it side to side to loosen it. Ivan felt an erection sneaking up on him.
“Not the time,” he said more to himself.
It took him under sixty seconds to work the lock and they went in. Alyona closed the door carefully to avoid making unnecessary noises that could call the attention of the guards that were supposed to patrol the hallways. They were at the party, but some may eventually come this way.
The bay was a cavernous space. The farther half of it consisted of a large sea-watered pool. The Band lay docked to one corner with two mooring lines. Two speedboats occupied the rest of the space. Upon his initial inspection on arrival, he discovered this tank was also capable of docking a submarine. A chill ran down his spine. He still remembered the missile crisis of ’63. The U.S. blockade prevented vessels, but now he feared a sub may have sneaked into the island. Later he discovered the base was less than a year old and he breathed relieved.
They approached The Band. The tap, tap of Alyona’s heels reverberated through the space. Ivan opened the cockpit and boarded. He ran a checkup on all gauges, and discovered it had no fuel.
“Somebody messed up. This thing must be prepped at all times,” he said.
“That would be Yuri. He’s a drunk. He must have left in a hurry, afraid the vodka might run out.”
“Maybe. We better hurry.” Maybe it was coincidence, but it had been Yuri’s room where he had secreted the disabled radio.
Ivan got out and walked to the opposite side of the bay, near the entrance, where the fuel pump was located. It was a 55 gallon barrel mounted on wheels and a manual pump attached to the top. He pushed the cart and cringed at the squeaky wheels that marked his progress across the floor all the way to the vessel. He unhooked the hose and went on the vessel. The access to the fuel tank was on the edge of the cockpit. Pilots had complained about the fumes when fueling right before a mission, thus the directive of preparing the vessel upon its arrival was issued. Now they would have to suffer through the fumes. Well, freedom had a price. He pumped while Alyona watched the door.
“We’re ready,” he called. He didn’t bother to return the cart to its place, nor clean fingerprints. Everybody would know it was them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A voice called.
Ivan froze, but he was facing Alyona. She looked pale and her eyes were wide. They both recognized the voice.
“When I saw you leaving the party right after her I figured you’d go shagging, not escaping,” Major Smith said. She spoke English.
“We’re just taking it for a spin,” he said in Russian.
Smith smiled and shook her head. “They told me you needed a diversion. Do you know the trouble I had to go to to get all that liquor for the party? They didn’t tell me you’d be taking her.” She pointed at the still froze Alyona.
“I…” He didn’t know what to say, but knew he had to come up with something quick. He wondered who “They” were. Maybe his cover had been blown and Major Smith had helped lay a trap for him. Caught red-handed he’d be executed.
“You’re supposed to take me!”
“What?” Ivan thought she was making less sense with each sentence. Although now he recalled the last bit of the garbled transmission.
“I work for the MI6 and they told me your plan to steal the Band. They asked me to make a diversion in exchange for a seat.”
“Double agent?”
“Don’t be daft. I came to the Soviet Union with good intentions, but when they turned my exploration submarine and turned into a weapon I decided it was time to return home.”
“Wait, are you saying you’re both spies?” Alyona finally managed to say something. She also spoke English.
Ivan didn’t know Alyona spoke English. He had thought his exchange with Smith had been private. He now felt exposed. He also feared her next deduction.
“You used me to get information on The Band. You spoke of love, but meant business!” She said and a tear rolled down her cheek.
For the first time he hated his job. He had two women resolved on leaving, but only space for one. He turned to see the craft. There was a space behind the two seats where the missile delivery system sat. Perhaps he could remove it to make space. Hell, they could cramp it was going to be a short ride anyway. They’d have to tough it out.
“What are you thinking?” Smith asked.
“We can free some space so the three of us can fit.” He approached the craft and inspected it. He’d need a couple of tools. Tools he wasn’t sure would be stored in the bay.
“Don’t bother. Let the spies get the hell out. I’m staying.”
“Alyona, I meant every word. I love you.” He felt pathetic as he stood on the wobbly floating craft. That was not how he had envisioned a declaration of love.
“I don’t believe you.” She turned towards the gate.
Just as she reached to open the door, it opened and Yuri stepped in. His eyes were slits and his bulbous nose was red. He looked like Rudolf the Reindeer.
“What’s going on here?” He looked at the two women, then at Ivan. He had a reputation for a dirty mind. A smile crossed his face then he wetted his lips with his tongue. He spoke directly at Ivan. “I’ll do Alyona first, then we can switch.”
“Comrade Yuri, behave yourself! I am your ranking officer and won’t tolerate insults such as
this.”
“Nah, you’re nothing but a British spoilt brat. Everybody knows your commission is phony. And everybody knows how you look at Comrade Ivan every time you think nobody’s watching. So you see, I’m giving you a chance to have him first.”
Ivan was surprised that as drunk as Yuri was, he could articulate such a logical defense. Still, Yuri had guessed the wrong secret and could still raise the alarm before they reach a safe distance. Poor Yuri, he was about to have the lights knocked out of him. Ivan stepped off the craft and onto the dock.
“Yuri, you’re right. Let’s do this as you wish. Did you bring protection?”
Yuri frowned. “Protection? What do you mean?”
“You know, protection for . . .” he looked as if searching for delicate words. “So we don’t have nine-month surprises.”
Yuri’s broad smile meant he finally got it. He shook his head.
“No? Don’t worry, I brought enough. Here, let me share some with you.” Ivan walked toward Yuri while making a show of pulling something out of his back pant pocket.
“This is the only protection I brought, you capitalist traitors!” Yuri produced a Makarov and held it point black at Ivan.
So the fool wasn’t drunk, just played the part to get them off-guard. Who would have thought Yuri to be that cunning?
“I shall get a medal and a promotion for capturing two spies and one defector in one coup. They may even appoint me to the Politburo.” Yuri had obviously thought about it often and was now basking in his apparent success. “When I found that radio in my room I figured something was up. Didn’t expect to find a committee.”
“You bastard!” Alyona tossed the hand pump from the fuel cart at Yuri. The hit knocked off the handgun but he managed to fire a wild shot.
Ivan seized his opportunity and punched him in the face. Yuri wasn’t completely out, he was big and burly. Rumor was he grew up in a rough part of Moscow. Yuri fought dirty. A kick between the legs would have brought down Ivan, but he managed to move in the last second and the heavy black boot connected with the thigh. It was painful, but not as bad as a direct hit to the groin. Ivan countered with a left hook that Yuri ducked out of its path. Yuri jumped on Ivan and together they went down. Ivan’s back hit the metal floor with a large and painful bang. His back hurt. Yuri straddled him and punched his face several times. Ivan tasted blood, but managed to kick Yuri in the back. They struggled around, wild punches connected and missed. Finally Ivan got his arm around Yuri’s neck and shocked him. With all his might, he held his arm. Yuri gagged, his eyes bulged. Finally the Russian went limp. Yuri felt sick, but at the same time excited to have survived.
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