Kill on Command (49 page)

XV

I’m S
orry

A dive motel off of I-95

Early morning hours – Tuesday

Pavel drove south on I-95 for two hours, before stopping just after midnight.  They chose a cheap motel.  Pavel paid for the room.  They would all be roommates.  Sergei did not speak to Sean.  As Pavel was walking towards the van, Sergei and Sean exited.  Sergei carried the contents of Waters’ briefcase and the mercenary’s cell phone.  Pavel opened the door and Sean saw that the room was worth every penny of the $19.99 Pavel paid for it.  Wood paneling.  Two double beds.  Sink in the middle of the room against the far wall.  Small bathroom in the back.  The room smelled like dirty feet and Pine-sol.  Sean tried to remember what that Dateline special had said about the dirtiest places in a hotel room.  He gave up and came to the realization that it was all filthy. 

Pavel sought out the bathroom and shut the door.  Sergei opened his bag and tossed Sean two meal replacement bars.

“Here you go.” 

“Thanks.”

“You’ll like them.  I sell them in my shop.” 

For some reason the comment struck him as crazy.  It was a comment made by a regular guy, not someone who just beat a man to death with his bare hands.  Sean opened a bar and took a bite.

“Good, right?”  Sergei asked.

Sean just nodded as he chewed.

Sergei turned around to face a rickety desk that was up against the wall.  He flipped on the lamp, placed Waters’ papers on the desk and the phone on top of them.  He quickly discerned that no real intelligence was going to be extracted from the phone, but he did have a hunch on who sent the mercenaries after Waters.  He was pretty certain they were not there for his team, just for Waters.  Sean was an unpleasant surprise for the South Africans.   Sergei kept looking through the papers, but his mind was on the young man sitting on the bed behind him. In all of his years, he had never seen a man move as fast as Sean.  He was not only fast, but good with a gun and definitely an expert with a knife.  Like his daughter, he felt sorry for the guy.  From what he knew of the experiments, Sean could collapse at any minute.  However, Sergei thought that if Sean had made it this long, the chemicals they injected him with were not going to be the end of him.  But then, Sergei was no doctor.

Pavel looked at Sean and said, “Get some sleep. We hit the road in two hours.  We have a nine-hour drive in front of us.  We need to be in Florida by early afternoon to visit a friend of Mr. Waters.”

Sean closed his eyes and was asleep in seconds.  Pavel woke him after two hours.  Sergei was still sitting at the desk.  He turned around when he heard Sean stir.

“Sean, are you ready to go?”

“Sure.”

“Look, I am sorry for how I treated you.  That was not right,” Sergei said, with sincerity in his voice.

Pavel nodded.  He approved of the apology.

“Thank you, but don’t worry about it,” Sean said, running his hand through his hair.

“Good.  The truck is out front.  Let’s go,” Pavel said, clapping his hands and tossing Sean his backpack.

Pavel headed for the door followed by Sean.  Pavel exited the room, but Sean stopped and turned towards Sergei.

“Don’t apologies get you thirty lashes in Spetsnaz?”  Sean asked, with a smile.  Sergei stood motionless for a second and then he smiled.

“Yes, but don’t tell anyone.  It won’t happen again.”  He let out the same laugh Sean had heard in the Nashville airport as he pushed past Sean.  Sean closed the door behind them and turned to see a new, or what looked like a new, black G550 Mercedes SUV.  Sean pointed at the truck.  He imagined this was what Russian gangsters all drove – hand-built, armored SUVs.

“The van is gone!”

“Very good, Sean.  My daughter said you were smart.  I had no idea you were this bright,” Sergei said and both he and Pavel laughed.  Pavel was still laughing as he got into the driver’s seat. 

“You guys are really funny,” Sean said, as he walked around and climbed into the rear seat behind Pavel.  Sergei stowed the gear in the trunk and sat up front with Pavel. 

“Hey Sergei!” Pavel said, as he was backing out of the spot.

“What?”

“The van is gone!”  Pavel said and started laughing all over again.  Sean made a face.  When Pavel laughed, it actually made him look even crazier.  Something about the white goatee. 

“OK.  OK.  Get it all out of your system.  I thought you said Russians didn’t joke?”  Sean asked and leaned forward.

“I was joking about that,” Sergei replied and turned to Pavel.  Pavel laughed again.

“I see what’s going on here.  He’s your Ed McMahon,” Sean chuckled.

“Who’s Ed McMa.  Mcsomthing?”  Pavel asked, glancing at Sergei.

“Some obscure American humor.  Ignore him.”  

Pavel merged onto an empty I-95 south.  Sean sat in the back and looked out the window and pondered the last few hours.  A new vehicle.  The van gone.  Sean had no clue who Sergei was working for.  He obviously was hell bent on revenge and stamping out anyone who would harm his daughter, but there was more to it.  A pissed-off dad doesn’t go through three vehicles in eight hours and have all kinds of communications equipment at his disposal.  Oh, and don’t forget the guns.  Was he working for the Russians?  Sean had no idea.  He was certain plenty of people wanted Waters and Price dead.  Was Sergei a mercenary?

They had ridden in silence for nearly two hours when Pavel looked up at Sean’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Sergei says you are in advertising.”

“I was.”

“What did you advertise?”

“Restaurants mostly.  I helped franchisees make the right decisions with their money.”

Pavel nodded, like he was processing it and was impressed.

“Why did you stop?”

“I was fired.  My boss and I did not see things the same way and I told him what I thought.”

“His mistake, Sean,” Pavel replied, his voice full of sympathy.

“Thanks.”

Pavel paused and smiled a little.

“You want me to take care of him?” he asked in a low voice.

Sean burst out laughing.  It was what Pavel wanted to hear.  Sergei smiled slightly and continued typing into his phone.  He had been furiously typing since they got on the highway.

“No!  I do appreciate the offer.  It is really tempting.  He’s a real douche bag.” 

Pavel smiled again and turned his attention to the road.  Sean liked Pavel.  They drove for another hour and stopped for a break and something to eat.  Sean took over the driving duties and Pavel snoozed in the back.

“This is some truck,” Sean said, with both hands on the wheel.

“I suppose.  Too much like a tank.  I’d rather have a BMW,” Sergei responded, still typing on his phone.

“This is superior to a BMW.”

Sergei didn’t respond.

“What are you typing?”

“It is not your concern.”

“I think it is.”  Sean snapped.  Sergei knew Sean was right.  He put the phone down.

“I am planning the assault on Price’s house in Florida.”

“When are we doing that?”

“Approximately eighteen hours.  At high tide.  The tide will be at its peak at approximately 2 A.M. In addition, there will be a storm coming in late tonight that will provide the cover we need to take him in his house.  Pavel will disable his security system and the phones.”

“What am I doing?”

“We will be in a boat 900 meters off the coast.  We will swim to shore, cross the beach, crawl through the dunes behind the house, cross the twenty meters of open ground from the dunes to his house, enter the house and kill him.  We will return to the sea and swim back to the boat.”

“We?”

“I am coming.”

“I can’t swim,” Sean said.

“Please.  You swam the same distance when you assassinated the Saudi.”

“I’m not OK with all of that,” Sean answered, frowning.

“Sean, you will need to come to terms with this.  It happened.  All of it was wrong.  You did it against your will and the men who did this to you are going to be punished.  You need to get your arms around what happened and move past it.”

“Easier said than done.”

“True.  I still wrestle with the choices that I made and the things I did before I met Ana’s mother.  It will take time.”

“I am guessing that you already have a boat for us.” 

“Very astute.  Yes.  I have procured a boat that will suffice.  It will be waiting when we arrive.”

“Are these all hook-ups from Cannondale or Trek?”  Sean’s tone was on the sarcastic side of the street.

“I sell both, but no.  The most I get out of them is a trip to the factory, Vegas or Moab for a weekend of mountain bike riding.  You ride Sean?”

Sean just went with the change of subject.  Boats.  Cars.  Guns.  He felt like he was caught up in a Russian version of Miami Vice.

“I used to ride in the mountains around Morgantown.  I actually have a Cannondale.   A M700.   It’s old.  You would probably just want to hang it in your shop as an antique.  I love it though.”

“Ana told me.  Those are good bikes.  Tough to ride with no suspension.”

“Not as nice as your daughter’s bike.  It was something else.”

“Yes.  Yes it is.  She charged it to Waters American Express.  I’d like to sell a couple of those,” Sergei responded and whistled.

“She said she needed to get it to keep up with you,” Sergei said, glancing over at Sean.

“I guess.”

“She told me about the OCD.  Are you able to control it?”

“Some.  The last 48 hours has satisfied the need to exercise.”

“I would think so,” Sergei responded.

“That bastard McFarland told me I had high cholesterol and had me on pills, but in reality it was medicine to blunt the effects of the OCD.”

“You have this medicine?”  Sergei asked.

“I am sure your daughter packed it.  She thought of everything else.  Don’t worry, it does not effect my performance.”

“I am not worried about that,” Sergei said, trailing off.  He felt bad for pressing him.  From what he had seen so far, Sean was certainly not a liability.  He knew what Ana saw in him, which was going to make completing this assignment all the more difficult.

Sean drove for another couple of hours and they stopped again for more food and fuel.  Sergei took over driving and took them the rest of the way to Daytona.

XVI

He Earned I
t

The World’s Most Famous Beach

Mid Afternoon – Tuesday

Sergei took the International Speedway exit off of I-95 and made a left at the bottom of the ramp.  They passed the Daytona International Speedway, which seemed to go on forever.  Sean gazed at it from the front passenger seat and wondered how fast he could push Brian’s E63 around the track.  They crossed over the intercoastal waterway and eventually made a right onto A1A.  A strip club sat on the corner with a dozen Harleys parked out front. 

“Looks like some of your buddies are getting an early start,” Sergei said to Sean.

“What? Are you a biker?”  Pavel asked him.

“Yeah.  He’s an outlaw.  That’s what the patch on the pack means.”

“An outlaw . . . ” Pavel was impressed.

“A friend gave it to me,” Sean replied.  He was a little embarrassed.

“They don’t give those away.  I know you earned it and the loyalty of the men you saved,” Sergei explained.  Again, he caught Sean off guard.  He seemed to know everything.

“Pavel, he also saved Ana,” Sergei added, as he headed south on A1A.  Pavel slapped Sean on the shoulder from the back seat.  He had a misty look on his face.  Apparently, even old Spetsnaz sergeants can get choked up.

They drove to the end of the peninsula to a series of docks at Ponce Inlet.  They parked the truck and got out.   The wind had picked up considerably.  The sky was dark.  Sean was not happy about getting out on the ocean.  It was going to be rough.

He knew he needed to eat before they got on the boat.   His body really began to tire on an empty stomach. Across the parking lot there was a dockside bar. 

“I am going to get something to eat.” he said, heading for the bar.

“Fine.  Meet us back here in thirty minutes.”

“Sergei.  Pavel.  You want something?”

“No thank you.  Just be back here in thirty minutes.”  Sergei and Pavel were pulling the duffels out of the back of the Mercedes.

Sean strode across the crushed shell parking lot to the restaurant, where he saw a woman in her early twenties behind the bar. 

“There’s a storm coming in,” she announced, without caring if he really wanted to know, while wiping off the bar top in front of her.  She had on cut-off jean shorts and a low cut, red tank top with the restaurant’s logo on it showing plenty of her deep tan.  Sean took a seat on a worn stool.  The bar top was one step above plywood and was smooth from years of plates and beer bottles being placed on it.  The whole bar area was designed to be packed up if the weather turned really bad.  Every section of the bar had a hood that came down and locked to keep it safe.  The bar had a rugged looking metal roof.  Behind Sean was the intercoastal waterway.  Seagulls circled around the fishing boats docked nearby, making a terrible racket.

“What do you want to drink?” she asked, sliding a menu in front of him.

“Just one of those bottled waters.” He gestured at the cooler.

“You sure you don’t want a beer?  We have a special?” she pressed, leaning on the bar towards him.  Her top was indeed low cut.  Sean glanced up from the menu at her.

“Tempting.” 

“Really?” she asked.

“The beer.  The beer is tempting.  Water is just fine for now.”

“You’re an awful flirt,” she said, laughing and snapping her towel at him.  He smiled at her.

“How is the Mahi sandwich?”

“Great.”

“I’ll take two.”

“You want two sandwiches?”

“Yeah.  That OK?”  Sean said, leaning his arms on the bar.  She was checking out his arms and shoulders that were tight against his shirt.

“You got it,” she said, looking shocked, placing the liter of water on the bar and hitting a few keys on the register.

“That will be a couple of minutes.  What are you doing down here in the middle of the day?” she asked.  The place was empty and it was obvious that he was her entertainment for the afternoon.

“Just visiting.”

“You some sort of body builder?” She poured herself a soda from the gun behind the bar as she talked.

“No.”

“Could have fooled me.”  She made her eyes wide when she said it and reached across the bar and squeezed his arm.

“Are you supposed to be handling the guests like that?” he asked.

“Sure.  It’s practically a policy.”

“What a great place to work,” he said, taking a long drink of the water.

“Not too bad.  What’s your name?” she asked, with a big, “I like you” smile.

“Mason.”

She frowned.

“No it’s not.”

Sean froze.  How did she know that?  What was he supposed to do?  She spoke before he could hurt himself thinking too hard.

“That’s the name you give out to girls that you don’t want calling you the next day.”

“That’s my real name.”

“Let me see your ID.” 

Sean handed it over to her.  He figured it was a good ID if it could fool a bartender.  She looked at it, then at Sean, handed it back and made a face at him.

“See.  Legit.  I am also hurt that you think I hand out bogus names to women I meet.” 

An older man brought out the two sandwiches on a large plate with a double order of fries.

“Enjoy,” she said and walked away.  Sean devoured the sandwiches and just munched on the fries.  To his left towards was what looked like a storage room.  A fat squirrel was sitting in the doorway with a cracker in his mouth.  Sean leaned over and looked closely at him.  The squirrel just stared back. 

“Hey!  Your boss saw the whole groping,” Sean said to the bartender, who turned and leaned on the bar.

“What?”

“That’s you’re boss, right?” he asked, pointing with a fry at the squirrel that had now finished off the crackers.

“Funny.  He works here but he’s not the boss.  But he thinks he is.”  She made a kissing noise and the squirrel ran over, jumped on a stool and then up on the bar.  Sean was surprised he could jump that high with the belly he was carrying around.  His fluffy tail flicked back and forth.  She opened up a pack of crackers and slid one down to the squirrel.  He gobbled it up. 

“I think I’m all set.  May I please have two more waters and the check?” 

“Here you go.”  She put it down in front of him.  He placed Mason’s Visa down to pay for the meal.  She turned and ran the card.  He left her a fifty percent tip, or rather Mason did.  He signed the receipt and slid off the barstool.

“Enjoy your day,” he said and headed back towards the dock.

“Thank you!” she said, looking at the tip.

He turned and yelled back, “Half is for the squirrel!”  The bartender smiled as she cleared Sean’s empty plates off the bar.