Kill on Command (44 page)

“OK.  That’s enough.  We need to talk.” She pulled away.

Sean sat up in the bed and leaned against the headboard.

“You didn’t tell your father did you?” he asked in a panic.

“Lord no!  We don’t need that hassle right now.”

“Good!  Good!  I don’t think that’s a good idea.  Let’s put it off.”

Sandy smiled at him and dumped the shopping bag on the bed.  She tossed him his new clothes.

“Thank you.  My own personal shopper.”

“You’re welcome.” she answered, laying out her clothes.  She took out the new backpack and backed Sean’s things into it.  Sandy had Sean under her spell – he didn’t notice anything that she was doing, other than making him want her even more. . . .

“I have one more surprise, “ she said, swinging around the new backpack.  She turned it so he could see the patch.

“Now that is bad ass!” he exclaimed with a smile, snapping out of her spell and reaching out to look at the bag.

“I thought you would like it.  Not the best sewing job, but it will work.”

“Thank you.  That’s really nice.  And don’t worry, you’re good at other things,” he said, winking at her.

“Well, that’s high praise indeed.”  She picked up the new backpack, turned and stuffed $5,000 and the Mason identity in the hidden pocket of Sean’s new bag.  He was oblivious.

Sean had been thinking, wondering and questioning everything that had happened over the last thirty-six or so hours.  He wanted at least a little texture.  A few answers.  He didn’t know if he was going to get the truth, but at least he was going to ask.

“How long has your father been in the U.S.?” he said, looking at her.

“Hmmmm.  I am twenty-seven.  So, twenty-nine years.  Roughly 1983.  He left to be with my mother.  She was a grad student at Stanford visiting the museums in Leningrad or what used to be Saint Petersburg.  It was a big deal for her to be able to go,” she answered, turning around and leaning on the dresser.

“I would think it was.  Especially given what was going on then.”

“My father was back from Afghanistan.  He was not happy.  He loved being Spetsnaz and was one of the first men recruited to the Alfa team in 1974, but he disagreed with what was going on and how the teams were being used.  He was wandering his favorite museum, the Hermitage, to just get away for a few hours, when he bumped into my mother and immediately fell in love with her.  They ended up spending the day together at the museum and he saw her nearly everyday that she was in Leningrad, but eventually she needed to go back to California.”

Sandy told a good story and Sean was hanging on her every word.  Sandy sat down next to him.

“Before she left, she was at the U.S. consulate and mentioned to someone how much she was going to miss this man she met in Leningrad.  The person she met asked who he was and my mother told him that he was a soldier.  My mother left and headed back to California.  The man from the consulate found my father and offered him an interesting proposal.”

“Which was?”

“Leave everything behind forever to be with the love of your life.  My father jumped at it.  He was ready to leave.”

“They just don’t let guys like your father walk away.  What did he do?”

“No, they don’t.  They would execute him if he has caught.  They faked his death.  He was on a boat that exploded.  People saw him leave the dock in the boat, but did not see him jump into the water seconds before it burst into flames.  He swims like a fish and was able to swim to a waiting barge.  He found transportation to Sweden, then to Ireland.  He entered the U.S. via Canada and eventually made it to California.”

“Did she know he was coming?”

“No.”

“That’s taking a big chance,” Sean said, thinking that he would never take that chance.  Not with his luck with women.  Sean could not get past the fact that she was pregnant.  A pregnant girlfriend was big for a guy who had trouble dating someone for more than ten days.  However, he had been around enough to know what Sandy’s response would be.

“Not when you’re in love.”

“What about your Mother?”  Sean asked.

“She died giving birth to me.”

“I am sorry.”  He really did not know what else to say.

“It’s OK.  My father has dedicated his entire life to taking care of me. When Waters threatened him, I had to protect him.  I kept what I was doing from him, but he figured it out.”

“It’s been nearly thirty years since he left, would he still be in danger?”

“Yes, the people to whom Waters threatened to leak information to could come for him.”

“And now he sells bicycles?”  Sean asked, still skeptical.

“Yes, he has a cool shop.  It’s very much like the shop up the street from the hotel.  Our house in California is near the beach.  It’s a fun place.”

“And you are sure he does not know you’re pregnant?” 

“Yes, I’m quite sure.  Relax!” she said.

“Good.  I look forward to meeting him,” he said, smiling.

Sandy wrestled with telling Sean about Brian.  She definitely was not going to tell him about Bailey.  She would let Brian handle that.  It was too much for her.

Sean was pulling off the tags on the new shirt.

“Sean.”

“Yeah.”

“I called Brian,” she said.

“When?” he asked, whirling to face her.

“Less than an hour ago.” 

“What did he say?  I want to talk to him!”

“You can’t.  He’s a cop and it might put his life in jeopardy if he starts poking around.”

“What the hell does that mean?”  Sean answered, raising his voice.

Sandy paused and braced herself for his reaction to what she was about to tell him.

“Waters has already made an attempt on his life.  He could try again.  Brian is OK.  He’s OK.”

“WHAT!”  Sean screamed, incensed.  His mood instantly changed.  He stood and stared out the window.

Sandy took a step back from Sean.

“Brian is OK.  He’s surrounded by police.” 

“Waters did this?” he asked, staring out the window. She moved next to him.  Part of her wished she had not told him.

“Yes.”  She could feel the anger rolling off of him.  His face was red.

“Let’s go get him.”

IX

You Don’t Look Like Much

Nashville

Monday – Mid-day

Sean sat on the edge of t
he bed facing the window.  He did not like what he had become, but it was clear to him that he needed to do something.  He needed to get past feeling sorry for himself.  People he cared about were in danger.  All the things Sandy said he had done made him want to toss all of the breakfast he had eaten.  He kept asking if he could live with himself.  Things were moving way too fast.  He felt like all of it was out of his control.  His life had not been his for the last eighteen months – he needed to take it back.   He was going to take care of what needed to be done and he would have to sort out what he was feeling later.  What was abundantly clear to him was what would happen if he were off his game, if he did not concentrate - he would be dead.

And nobody wanted that, least of all Sean.

Sandy tossed his old clothes into the trash.  He had on all the new clothing she had picked up for him plus his old hiking boots.

“Sean.” 

He did not respond.

“Sean!”

“Yeah.  Sorry.  I am just thinking.”

“That’s OK.  I have your pack over here.  The Mason identity is what you’re using.  You have to follow my lead on this.  No more fooling around.”

“Got it.” 

Sean had now locked his mind on ridding the world of Waters and everyone who was involved in the program.  It was the first step in getting his life back.

“We still have time to grab one of the sandwiches you have been talking about,” she said, knowing he would jump at the chance.  He did.

“Now you’re talking.  Let’s go.”  He picked up the 1% backpack Sandy had made for him.  They left the room and headed down to the lobby.  In the parking lot, they ran into a man in front of the Bronco.  He saw them coming and moving towards them.  Sandy’s first reaction was to reach into her backpack for a gun, but she quickly realized this was just some local schmo. 

“This your Bronco?  I’m Skip,” the man said, extending his hand.

“I’m Mason and yes, it is,” Sean answered proudly.

Sandy marveled at how he was able to be “Sean” even after everything that had happened.  Happy to see people.  Happy to talk with them, no matter who they were.

“You want to sell it?”  Skip asked.

“What?”  Sandy replied, with a shocked look on her face.

“$9,500?”

“No way.  We are just passing through.  We need it,” Sandy answered.

“$11,000 and I’ll pick up the rental for you?” 

Sean answered, “Sorry Skip.  It means too much to me. I can’t let it go.”

“OK, here’s my card, if you change your mind.”  He handed them a card and walked away.

“Thanks Skip,” Sean said, giving him a quick wave.  He looked at Sandy.

“Can you believe that?  That truck of yours wouldn’t get that reaction, Sandy.”   He climbed into the driver’s seat.

“That’s true and good job with the alias, but you forgot mine,” she said, dropping her pack and duffel in the back seat and climbing into the truck.  He ignored her jab at him.   Sandy’s skirt rode up her tan, muscular thigh as she was climbing into the Bronco.  Sean put his hand on her knee and started running it up her long, smooth leg.  She quickly put her hand over his.

“Now.  Now.  There will be plenty of time for that,” she said, brushing her blonde hair out of her face.

“What?  I was just making sure you were safely in the car.”

“Of course you were and I’m glad you like the skirt.”

“It’s not the skirt,” he said, without hesitation.  Sandy blushed.

Sean put the key into the ignition and started the truck.  One turn and it was running like it had just rolled off of the assembly line.

“I wish my Jeep would run like this.” 

“You should let Otis have it.”

“I don’t think it will make it to Nitro.  I might just set it on fire and push it into the river.  A Viking funeral of sorts.”

“Well, that won’t get you arrested or anything.”

They pulled out onto West End Avenue and found that getting across the street to the BBQ place was not as easy as it seemed.  They had to make a right and take a couple of back streets to make it across the road.  They parked within walking distance of the Parthenon and right in front of a dive bar adjacent to the restaurant.  The BBQ was served out of a tiny, cinder block building with a service window.  Sean ordered two pulled chicken sandwiches and a pulled pork sandwich.  Sandy just had a small pulled chicken sandwich.  She still marveled at how much food he put away.

“This sauce is amazing!” he raved, finishing off the last chicken sandwich and wiping his mouth.

“Sure is.”  Sandy was listening but was thinking about the last phases of her plan.

“Where are we meeting him?”

“On the steps.  Let’s go.” 

They climbed back into the truck and Sandy drove them into the park.  They could see a figure sitting on the steps, watching.  He was leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.  Sean and Sandy got out.  Sandy was carrying Sean’s backpack.  They walked across the grass towards the man on the steps.  He started down the steps.  Sean could see that Sandy’s father was his equal in height and just as muscular.  He was wearing a black golf shirt and had swimmer’s shoulders, his traps strained against the fabric.  He had on khaki pants and boots you usually see on soldiers.  His light blonde hair was cropped short and he did not look like he was more than forty-five or forty-six.  Hard to believe he was pushing sixty.  He had a day worth of stubble on his face and deep lines around his eyes from the sun, cold or other extreme condition.  Sean thought he looked like he might have had his nose broken a couple of times.  He was a handsome guy, in a rugged way, but not pretty.  Far from it.   He was the type of guy that might make you walk the other way if you saw him coming down a dark alley, but at the same time he was also the type that caused women to do a double take.

As he got closer, Sandy picked up speed, dropped the backpack and gave him a big hug.  As he embraced her, he watched Sean.  Sandy let go of him and turned to introduce Sean.

“Papa, this is Sean.” 

Sergei Molotov just stared at Sean.  He had the same piercing blue eyes that his daughter did.  He did not extend his hand.   However, Sean immediately noticed his hands.  They looked as if they were carved from stone.  Big.  Heavy.  Rough.  The kind of hands that had spent a dozen or more years jumping out of helicopters and planes.  Hands that had been on the winning side of brutal hand-to-hand combat in the mountains of Afghanistan.  He was staring at Sean like he would an exhibit at the zoo. 

Finally he spoke, “I’m Sergei Molotov.”

Sean extended his hand, but Sandy’s father didn’t.   He reciprocated with a jab directed straight for Sean’s nose.  It didn’t find its mark.  Sean easily deflected Sergei’s jab with his left hand, shot his right hand out and caught Sergei by the throat and began to apply pressure.  Sean’s lightning quick reaction caught the former Spetsnaz officer completely by surprise.  His daughter had told him about Sean but he didn’t really believe it.  He did now.

“SEAN!  Let him go!”  Sandy screamed, reaching for Sean’s hand.

He released Sergei who rubbed his neck, laughing.

“I’m sorry Mr. Molotov.  Just a reflex. . .”  Sean mumbled from several feet away.  He didn’t want to get any closer to Sandy’s father.

“No.  No. Sean it’s my fault.  I should not have doubted Ana.”

“Please don’t do that anymore!”  Sandy pleaded with both of them.  She knew that while Sean didn’t have the desire to kill her father, he had the ability.

“Who’s Ana?”  Sean asked, looking at Sandy. 

In Russian, her father, turning towards her said, “You have not told him your name?  Does he know you are not coming with us?”

Sandy tried to reply, but Sean’s Russian was better than hers and he was quicker.

He responded in Russian, “No sir, she has not told me her real name and I also did not know she was not coming along.  However, I am relieved.”

Sergei nodded at him.

“Your Russian is very good.” 

“So is yours.”  Sean smirked, as he spoke.

“I am Russian,” Sergei responded.

“I know. It was a joke.”

In Russian, he said to Sean, “Russians don’t joke.”  He didn’t smile.

Sean just nodded.  He was slightly angry that Sandy had not told him her real name.  Nothing surprised him anymore.  He was relieved she was not going.  It gave him one less thing to worry about.  He let it go.  They had plenty to talk about.

“Sean, I am sorry I did not tell you everything.  It was a mistake.  I am not going.  I want to, but I am out.  I am leaving.  My father will be your partner.  Together, you will end this.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry.  I will be back.  You won’t get rid of me that easily.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing him deeply.  Sean kept an eye on Sandy’s father.  His arms were crossed and he was staring right through Sean.  She released him and handed him the backpack. 

“Sean, everything you need is here.”  She turned to her father and gave him a hug.

“Papa, bring him back,” she whispered into his ear.  Her father did not say anything.  He would not make a promise like that. 

She looked back at them standing side-by-side in front of the Parthenon, walked to the Bronco, got in, fired it up and left the park.  She made it as far as a drugstore on West End before she pulled over in the parking lot.  She parked and turned off the engine and began to cry.  It took her several minutes before she was able to compose herself and continue.

Sean looked at Sergei Molotov.

“Mr. Molotov, where are we going?” 

“To the airport and call me Sergei.”  He gestured towards a Chevy rental parked nearby.  They got in.  The car had that overly perfumed, strip club smell that permeates all rentals.

“Sure.”  

“What the hell?” Sean thought.  He’d been in the dark for eighteen months what was thirty more minutes.  He was slightly frustrated, very angry and extremely anxious.

“Sean.  We are going to D.C.  A friend of mine is keeping an eye on Waters.”  Sergei drove up West End and actually passed his daughter who was still in the parking lot.  They merged onto I-440 and headed for the airport.  Sean did not speak.  He was hoping Sandy’s father, or Ana’s father, whatever her name was, would fill him in on what they were doing, what the plan was – anything.

The Nashville traffic was surprisingly bad and they sat on the interstate not moving for several minutes.  Sean wondered if Conway Twitty was in town . . . .

“There’s more to this than just Waters, Sean.  Others are involved.  I intend to remove these people from the face of the earth.”  He looked over at Sean, as he spoke.

“You think we will have time to stop for a coffee?”  Sean asked.

“WHAT?  Are you listening to me?”  Sergei glared.

“Yes sir. I am,” Sean said, smiling and turning towards Sergei.

“Jesus!  Ana warned me about this.  She said it would drive me nuts.”  He ran his hand through his hair.

“Is it?” 

“No!  But let me tell you this.  If we were in the Red Army, I would shoot you.”