Read Termination Orders Online
Authors: Leo J. Maloney
Termination Orders (34 page)
“Yeah, I got the CliffsNotes stateside,” said Morgan. He looked down at the sixteen canisters, the mist from the refrigeration still playing around them. Morgan shivered, but not from the cold.
“I’d say in this case you could use the refresher.” She unbuttoned her lab coat to climb down from the back of the truck. Morgan followed her, being careful as he touched his right foot to the ground, and was slightly relieved not to feel any pain in his knee.
They were in an otherwise empty loading dock on the edge of Budapest, and Lubarsky was waiting in a car outside with the two hulks from the hotel. Barrett was a slight woman with close-cropped hair, no older than thirty, a fast-talking prodigy without an ear for social graces. Her directness had made Morgan like her right away.
“The one upside,” she continued, “is that the half-life for this baby is only about a minute in the atmosphere. If there’s any kind of leak, hold your breath, and get the hell out of there.” She reached into a bag and brought out a syringe in a hermetic plastic sheath. “You’ll still absorb it through your skin, but you just might make it if you inject yourself with this.”
Morgan eyed the size of the needle warily. “This is what, an antidote?”
“Atropine. It’ll counteract the effects of the gas. Plunge that son of a bitch right into your heart, and it could save your life.”
“My
heart
?” He took it into his hands and stared at the three-inch-long needle. “Remind me, Genie,” he said, “why we’re not giving this bastard a goddamn decoy?”
heart
?” He took it into his hands and stared at the three-inch-long needle. “Remind me, Genie,” he said, “why we’re not giving this bastard a goddamn decoy?”
“If he’s half as competent as he’s supposed to be, he’ll make damn sure he gets what he’s paying for. And if he finds out we’ve filled these canisters with weapons-grade air, the whole operation is blown.”
“That fail-safe had better work.”
“Don’t worry. We tested the hell out of those incinerators. They’re on timer
and
remote control, and there’s enough thermite in each canister to melt an Eskimo’s ass.”
and
remote control, and there’s enough thermite in each canister to melt an Eskimo’s ass.”
“Just take care that it doesn’t melt mine.”
Barrett laughed. “Don’t worry, Cobes. If everything goes according to plan, you’ll be gone and he’ll be captured before long before that timer goes off.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“How about we choose to keep a positive attitude about this?” she said. “It goes well, we take a couple of nasty arms dealers out of commission, and maybe get their suppliers to boot.”
“We can do that by
killing
them,” said Morgan.
killing
them,” said Morgan.
“Hey, I’m not the one you need to talk to here. I don’t make orders; I take them, say thank you, and ask for another. And if the brass wants Novokoff captured alive, then that’s what they’re gonna get.”
“And why the hell
do
they want him alive?”
do
they want him alive?”
“You’re asking the wrong girl here,” said Barrett.
He heard a long beep of a horn coming from Lubarsky’s car outside.
“Your date is getting impatient,” she said.
“Tough. Where’s Ferenc?”
“Just inside. Ferenc!” she yelled out to him. “Come on out here—we’re ready for you.”
The tall, blond Hungarian with a youthful, rectangular face appeared, sauntering toward them and the truck, his footsteps echoing in the hollows of the loading dock.
“Hello, Cobra,” he said. “Are you ready to bag a weapons dealer?”
“I’m glad you’re so chipper about this,” said Morgan. “Is the team ready?”
“They’re in position at a safe house a few blocks away,” said Ferenc. “They’ll be tracking us to our destination.”
Morgan climbed into the passenger side of the truck while Ferenc got into the driver’s seat. Ferenc turned the key, and, after whining, the engine rumbled awake. Morgan opened his window.
“You’re all set, Cobes,” said Barrett, who then walked to the garage door control. “Try not to get killed.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“All right, then, here we go.” She pulled the switch, and the garage door started rolling up. She winced as the cold air rushed in, carrying with it flurries of snow.
“I’m trying to avoid bodily injury, thank you very much.“
Ferenc pulled the truck outside, where Lubarsky was waiting, huddled and leaning against his black town car.
“We’re here,” said Morgan through the truck’s window.
“About time,” said the Georgian. “I am freezing my nuts off out here.” He typed into his burner phone.
“I thought you Russian assholes were supposed to be used to the cold,” said Morgan. “Or at least not to whine like a little girl about it.”
Lubarsky’s phone beeped, and he looked at the screen.
“Okay, I know where we are meeting. It is a long drive. I take it you want to ride with the merchandise?”
“You take it right,” said Morgan.
“Okay,” said Lubarsky. “Follow me.”
Lubarsky set off, and Ferenc followed.
“So how do we do this?” asked Ferenc.
“You hang back,” said Morgan. “Near the truck—remember, you’re just the driver. Keep a close eye on the situation and your weapon ready.”
They drove in silence behind Lubarsky for a few minutes, until Ferenc spoke.
“So this Novokoff—he’s ex-KGB, right? Cold War dinosaur type? Still active in intelligence?”
“Yeah.”
“And you knew him from back in the day?”
“I knew
of
him,” said Morgan. “Killed at least three Agency men, one of them a good friend of mine. Likes murder and tortures in cold blood. Made a fortune cashing in on weapon stockpiles after the fall of the Soviet Union.”
of
him,” said Morgan. “Killed at least three Agency men, one of them a good friend of mine. Likes murder and tortures in cold blood. Made a fortune cashing in on weapon stockpiles after the fall of the Soviet Union.”
“Sounds like a nasty piece of work,” said Ferenc.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Lubarsky pulled into an abandoned factory complex and was waved in through a truck-size door by a man in combat armor holding a semiautomatic. Ferenc followed Lubarsky’s lead.
“Oh, boy,” said Morgan.
Morgan counted three more men similarly armed, and at each of their belts he could make out the bulbous shapes of three grenades. Ferenc parked the truck behind Lubarsky’s car, and the men converged on them, forming a perimeter.
Morgan stepped out. He saw Novokoff standing in the middle of the abandoned factory floor next to a single, featureless, surgical-aluminum table, wearing a black turtleneck sweater with suspenders, a pistol at his hip. Morgan had known him from pictures, but there was something unnerving about his personal presence, even at a distance. He was aloof, his carefully coiffed gray hair and beard giving him the aspect of a well-groomed wolf. His eyes had the quiet calm of a fearless killer. There was also one new feature—a scar, bright red and not fully healed, streaked across his face.
“Bringing a gun to an introduction is no way to make friends,” said Novokoff.
“You’re one to talk,” said Morgan. “Why the army? Expecting an invasion?”
“I am not a trusting man, Cobra. Let’s just say I had some relevant prior experience. And after all, we were
de facto
enemies for the better part of a decade, were we not? Oh, you did not expect me to come to this meeting without finding out everything that I could about you, did you,
Mr. Morgan
? You don’t mind that I use your real name, do you? All this code name business is so passé.”
de facto
enemies for the better part of a decade, were we not? Oh, you did not expect me to come to this meeting without finding out everything that I could about you, did you,
Mr. Morgan
? You don’t mind that I use your real name, do you? All this code name business is so passé.”
Morgan did not react. “There aren’t many who know that name and survive.”
“Ah, but therein lies the beauty of commerce, Mr. Morgan. It brings even enemies together in the bonds of trade. It creates a connection of trust and mutual need.”
“I think even you understand the irony of those words coming out of your mouth.”
“Ah, that is true only if you believe that the game at the KGB was really about the Revolution, Mr. Morgan. Ah, it was for some, those hopeless young fanatics who readily gave their lives for this . . .
cause
. It is alien to me and most of the men of my time. We understood that it was not about Socialism. It was not about Mother Russia. It was always, really, only about power.”
cause
. It is alien to me and most of the men of my time. We understood that it was not about Socialism. It was not about Mother Russia. It was always, really, only about power.”
“So this should be right up your alley,” said Morgan.
“Very much so. And apparently yours, too,” Novokoff said, shifting gears, “or you could not offer me such a rare item.”
“Exactly. So how about we get to it?”
“Very well. I have money for you, Mr. Morgan, and I trust you have product for me.”
“In the truck,” said Morgan.
Novokoff motioned to his men. Two of them opened the back of the truck, took down the crate, and with some effort placed it down next to the table.
“Be careful with that. I do not want to die here,” said Lubarsky.
Another of Novokoff’s men brought out a seamless Plexiglas cage that held five large lab rats and set it down on the table. He placed next to it a short mesh hose with complicated attachments at the ends. One of the men who had taken the metal crate from the truck opened it and removed a canister, spreading billows of smoke from the dry ice. He held it carefully, walking slowly to the table and setting it down as gently as he could.
He took the hose and connected one end into the air nozzle on the rat cage, and the other to the canister. There was a faint hiss as colorless, odorless gas seeped into the cage. The rats were at first paralyzed, then began to seize madly, foaming at the mouths, scratching at one another involuntarily until their white fur was stained red. Slowly, the seizing tapered to stillness but for an odd twitching leg.
“It appears you are a man of your word, Mr. Morgan,” said Novokoff. He motioned toward the hose, and the nearest man moved to disconnect it. He undid the lock on the nozzle and pulled, but it seemed stuck. He pulled harder. It gave, but the man lost his balance, knocking back against the canister. Morgan’s heart skipped a beat as the canister teetered uncertainly. He prepared to bolt, certain that it would fall. He exhaled, relieved, as it fell back upright. Then he looked at Novokoff.
His face was changed entirely, contorted with anger. He growled something in Russian to the man. The man started talking apologetically, holding his hands at chest level. He noticed the other guards looking on uncomfortably. And then, faster than anyone could react, Novokoff drew his pistol and cold-cocked the man on his temple. The guard sprawled onto the ground, and Novokoff was immediately on him, swinging his pistol again, this time against the man’s face.
Two other guards rushed to him as he hit the man in wild fury. They managed to wrench him off the man and hold him back. Novokoff growled, struggling for a few seconds; but as suddenly as it had come on, his fury seemed to die down. His face changed back to an eerie calm, and he looked at Morgan as if nothing had happened.
“Your product is good, Cobra,” he said. “And your asking price is fair.”
The man on the floor groaned, and it seemed to flip a switch in Novokoff. He wheeled around, and the two guards ran to hold him back again.
What happened next seemed to move in slow motion. Novokoff struggled and pushed one of the men back. He staggered against the table. The canister tipped again, and for a split second it seemed like it might teeter back to its standing position. But it moved an inch too far, and it dropped to the ground. The struggle ceased, and everyone froze as the canister rolled a few feet and came to a halt. Then, there was a bright flash, and a wave of hot air blew into Morgan’s face. The fail-safe had gone off.
Novokoff turned to him with snake’s eyes, and Morgan knew that he understood exactly what had happened. Novokoff drew his gun and shot, but Morgan had already anticipated this and dodged the first salvo of bullets. Novokoff’s men, however, took the cue and fired bursts at Morgan and Lubarsky’s goons. These two drew their own guns and shot back.
“Stop that!” yelled Lubarsky.
Novokoff shouted in Russian, and it was obvious why: the crate with the canisters was dangerously close to the line of fire. One of Lubarsky’s men was hit. Morgan saw another of Novokoff’s men fall, near him, and saw that the bullet had come from Ferenc, who had joined the fray. Novokoff retreated behind a pillar, and Morgan kicked over a table and hid behind it. He listened for the gunfire, waiting for a lull. He pictured the position of one of the shooters. His eyes met Ferenc’s—the other man was crouching behind the truck. He made the sign for covering fire. Ferenc nodded.
Ferenc emerged, shooting. A split second later, Morgan stood, and with another split second to aim, fired. He hit the man squarely in the forehead. He crouched and looked at Ferenc but saw him sprawled on the floor, inert, blood pooling underneath him.
Shit
.
.
He heard moans. Lubarsky was several yards away, shot in the gut.
“Damn you . . . Cobra . . .” he said, with labored breathing.
“You are alone, Mr. Morgan!” Novokoff yelled out to him. “Come out now, you double-crossing son of a bitch, and I promise you a quick death!”
The bastard
. Morgan was half-tempted to make his an ending befitting Butch Cassidy, but instead he took a deep breath. There was a burst of gunfire in his direction, hitting the table deafeningly. But the table held the bullets. He was safe until they realized he was out of ammunition.
. Morgan was half-tempted to make his an ending befitting Butch Cassidy, but instead he took a deep breath. There was a burst of gunfire in his direction, hitting the table deafeningly. But the table held the bullets. He was safe until they realized he was out of ammunition.
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