The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (18 page)

“You okay, Tony?” Two of his men helped him up to his feet. Tony was breathing heavy. He stared at Hachiuma with a mixture of anger and fear but said nothing.

Hachiuma’s eyes glowed. “Surely you didn’t think your insolence here today would go unpunished?” Tony accepted his castration without fight. This was acceptable for Hachiuma; he felt Tony had learned his lesson. “Handpick capable men for Monday, Tony. I don’t want to suffer incompetence.”

***

These days, when Alex was out of the house, he found himself looking over his shoulder for any suspicious characters or the supposed tails that Bruce had instructed to follow him.
So far, nothing out of the ordinary
. Alex was beginning to wonder whether he even had a tail following him because he was confident that he would be able to spot them.

Alex had been training alongside his father for a few weeks now. His routine had more or less consisted of school, training, homework,
more
training, then settling into bed for a well-earned sleep. Of course, he also managed to squeeze in the daily necessities such as three square meals, whenever he could. As he predicted, every day he would go to sleep mentally and physically exhausted, b
ut he didn’t mind
. Alex never once complained to Bruce or anyone else that the training was too much for him. He
wanted
to do this. He was proud of himself for showing such grit and tenacity, and he could tell that his father was proud of him as well.

“Faster! FASTER! C’mon, do it!” Bruce, Alex, and Varick were downstairs in the manor’s gym. Most of the training took place here. Alex sent a flurry of punches in Bruce’s direction. With each punch, he increased the intensity. Bruce blocked and deflected as quickly as Alex could throw his punches.
He had yet
to land a single hit on Bruce
. But with each passing day, Alex was growing stronger, quicker, and was striking with more precision. “Kicks!” Bruce yelled. Alex immediately switched to leg strikes, aiming for the knees and upper thighs. Bruce blocked with his legs, raising them so that Alex’s strikes made contact with Bruce’s rock-hard shins. Alex’s legs were beginning to go numb—b
ut he kept going.
 

Bruce switched to blocking with his arms as Alex aimed higher, at Bruce’s upper torso. His energy was waning; his limbs were heavy. And with exhaustion came frustration.
Keep going!
Alex told himself. He was determined to land a hit today. Faster and faster Alex went. Without warning, Alex added punches alongside his kicks.
He was going all out
. Bruce grinned while he blocked all the attacks with his swift arm movements. He then dropped one arm and placed it behind his back. Bruce was now blocking all of Alex’s attacks with one hand. Alex gritted his teeth.
As if failing to land a single hit since he started training wasn’t bad enough, he’s going to get taunted now, too?
Bruce stepped back as Alex’s frustration turned to anger. Alex put all his weight and power behind a punch he sent directly at Bruce’s chest. Bruce caught Alex’s arm by the wrist and twisted it. Then, with a sidestep and a sweep kick, sent Alex sailing through the air. He landed on his back on the training mat. Alex panted hard, struggling to catch his breath.

“Good work today, Alex,” Bruce commended.

“Thank—thank you, Sensei,” Alex rasped.

Varick shook his head. “I really can’t get used to hearing that ‘sensei’ title.” Varick had assisted with some of the boxing drills today, despite his rib injuries still healing. He still had the punching mitts on his hands.

Bruce rotated his shoulder to work out the kinks. “But, Alex, I think towards the end you might’ve lost your cool a little bit.”

“Yeah, well, what do you expect—one-handed blocking? Add insult to injury, why don’t ya.”

Bruce laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s another lesson. To keep your head on straight, despite your opponent’s attempts to make you lose focus and unbalance you.
March to the beat of your own drum
.”

Alex was still lying on his back, breathing heavy and sweating profusely. “Sensei—put a sock in it.” Bruce extended a hand. Alex grabbed hold and struggled to his feet.
He could barely walk
. Alex stared down at the palms of his hands: they were rough and calloused from conditioning. Part of his training included palm strikes to hard surfaces. He opened and closed his hands.

Bruce looked curiously at Alex. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Alex replied. Looking down at his hands, a sudden thought crossed his mind. “Hey, Varick, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, kid. What is it?”

“The energy fields. The way they can be controlled... Didn’t you want to do it too? Like my dad and Mr. Santos?”

Varick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I suppose... Why?”

“Well, I mean, if you wanted to, you could have learned it too, right? I’m sure my dad would teach you—right, Dad?”

Varick and Bruce exchanged glances. “I never got around to it, that’s all,” Varick replied. “I tried for a bit and other stuff came up. Need to devote a lot of time to it.”

“But isn’t it worth it? I mean, this stuff is
unbelievable
. It’s probably the greatest power a person can attain in their lifetime. And you’re more than physically fit to handle it, right? Surely it’s worth it?”

Varick forced a grin. “Well, in the years to come, I’m sure you’ll learn and master it. Now enough questions.” Varick batted Alex over the head with a punching mitt. “Get outta here; hit the showers.”

“Right.” Alex hobbled over to the stairs on his jelly-like legs and made his way up. Despite Varick’s joking attitude, Alex felt he might have struck a nerve.

Alex took a quick shower, ate, brushed his teeth, and finally collapsed onto his bed. He was completely tuckered out. He rubbed his face—he had some school projects due next week. He had told his dad he was on top of it, but in truth, he had barely started. Alex wasn’t too worried, though. He would wing it over the weekend and play catch up. These things always worked themselves out somehow. As long as he had the added pressure of the deadline to keep him motivated, he could do it. Frankly, he was too engrossed in his training to pay much attention to school.

On his first day of training, Bruce had shared some incredible stories about how he had become a part of the Legion. Alex knew that Bruce grew up in a foster home, but he didn’t know much more than that. How the Legion recruited him straight out of his house... How he had lived in Tibet for almost seven years... He couldn’t believe that he didn’t know about all of his amazing adventures—about his amazing
powers
...his own father
. He had
never told him about any of it until a few weeks ago.
Better
late than never,
Alex supposed.

What Alex was most excited about was learning the art of energy field manipulation. Would he really be able to develop such skills? Fire projectiles at will... Attain superhuman strength... Perhaps even fly? It all seemed like a wonderful fantasy. But during his first day of training, when Bruce demonstrated a sample of what it meant to harness this power…the realm of possibilities—his prospective on life itself—had changed forever. But he knew it would be years before he could do anything like what his father was capable of. It was best to keep it from his mind for now and focus on what was at hand. But from time to time, it was always nice to dream. Alex decided to finally succumb to his weariness and drift off into a deep, much needed, sleep.

***

Saturday, October 30th, 1999

Los Angeles, California

The night of Lomez’s Halloween party had finally arrived. Scorcher and Lomez touched down at the L.A. airport late in the evening. A limousine was waiting to pick them up and drive them to Lomez’s Beverly Hills mansion. Despite the initial plan to head to Los Angeles Thursday night, the prior two days were spent out in rural Pennsylvania. With a character like Lomez, a plan was about as useful as dry rot. Scorcher didn’t mind, however—Lomez had treated him to a Friday in the woods, hunting anything they could find worth making a meal of. Scorcher figured he could just as easily incinerate the entire forest and have his pick of the barbecue, but he decided to be sporting and use a rifle like Lomez. One would think that using a gun while intoxicated would be a bad idea, but Lomez had a surprisingly accurate shot. The prize of the day was a 500-pound black bear taken down by Lomez. Fun times were had by all except the wildlife.

 Their limousine passed through the golden gates of Lomez’s property and was now driving up the winding driveway. Lush trees were on either side of them and gradually opened up into a football-field-sized front yard. On a slight elevation stood Lomez’s mansion.
The Party House
. The mansion was an immense construction of pearly white stone.  There were people on the lawn, dressed up in Halloween costumes. Scorcher gazed out the limo window and was once again amazed by Lomez’s place of dwelling. In a word, it was
spectacular
. The limo stopped near the entrance.

“Alright, Lomez, so you’re sure about this, right? No one’s gonna freak out?”

“Oh, everyone’s going to freak out, but in the best possible way. Don’t worry. Like I said, it’s Halloween—you’re a shoo-in.” Lomez thought for a moment. “But I suppose, we can do something about your name for tonight.”

Scorcher was puzzled. “What’s wrong with my name? No good?”

“No-no, it’s good, but it might be a tad too angry and confrontational.” Lomez’s face lit up. “What you need is a
nickname
. I’ll introduce you with something else. Let’s see now...” With his elbow resting on his thigh, he drummed two fingers on his thumb and pondered the notion. “How about ‘Sizzler’?
Yeah
. Your
party name
.”

Scorcher scratched his head. “Sizzler, eh? Sounds pretty gay to me.”

Lomez scoffed. “Oh, and ‘Scorcher’ isn’t completely flaming? No-no, trust me, this will have a better ring to it. It’s still semi-menacing but can work on another level—sounds more festive to my ears.”

Scorcher shrugged. “Alrighty then, Sizzler it is. Tonight, I shall make things sizzle as opposed to scorch.”

“Yeah, buddy!” Lomez slapped ‘Sizzler’ across the shoulder. “Oh yeah, one more thing. I got something for ya.” Lomez slid over to the empty bench seat and popped it open.

“Storage space under the seat? Nifty.”

“Ain’t it? That’s custom, by the way. And so is this...” From under the seat, Lomez withdrew a large bundle of purple fabric.

Scorcher stared. “Is that a dress?”

Lomez gave the fabric a shake and let it unfurl under its own weight. “This, my friend, is a cape. The highest quality fabric. Doesn’t wrinkle.”

“Why the hell do you have a cape?”

“I knew it would come in handy for just such an occasion; meaning, I’m gonna let you borrow it for tonight. If you want your current getup to pass for a Halloween costume, this is what’s going to complete your look.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. I mean, you
could
walk out there as is. But if you wear this, people are going to believe you’re a real-life super-villain.”
 

“But, I am...”

“
Exactly
. And this cape is what’s going to sell it!”
 

“Sell what?”

“That you’re a super-villain! You gotta dress the part. You wear
this cape and
that’s
what’ll elevate you to the grand heights of super-villainy!”
 

“But wasn’t the point of this costume idea to hide that fact?”

“I’m talking about your costume, man!
Now remember, you want to fool these people into thinking you’re
pretending
to be a
real super-villain, but if they find out your face ain’t a costume, you’re on your own!”
 

Scorcher leaned forward and placed the fingertips of both his hands together. “Lomez...what the
hell
are you talking about?”
 

“What the hell are
you
talking about?” Lomez demanded.

Scorcher and Lomez stared at each other in confusion. “Okay-okay-okay. So, bottom line, I should wear this cape?”

“Yeah.”

“The cape
you just happened to have tucked away in your limo?”

“Yeah. I’m
that
prepared.
Ye-ah
.”

Scorcher shrugged. “Alright, fuck it. Let’s do this thing.”

“Yeah!”

Scorcher took the cape from Lomez and fastened it around his neck. “How does it look?”

Lomez grinned.
“
Super
.
Well then, shall we?”

Scorcher’s eye glowed with anticipation. “Let’s.”

The moment the pair stepped out of the limo, they were welcomed with immense cheering. Lomez stood in silence, rooted to the spot. He smiled smugly with his head held high. Then, his right arm shot up and pointed straight up to the sky, as if to officiate the festivities. Wild howling and hooting ensued. Scorcher followed behind Lomez as he made his way through the crowd and towards the mansion. Lomez greeted as many people as he could along the way. People were dancing and talking animatedly. Rock music was blasting from the loud speakers on the porch steps. It was pandemonium, and they hadn’t even stepped into the house yet. Scorcher was loving every minute of it.

“What time is it?” Scorcher asked.

“Almost ten,” Lomez replied.

“And what time did this shindig start?”

“My guess would be last night.” Lomez stepped over a chubby, bare-chested man that was passed out on the lawn.

Scorcher grinned. “A day late to your own party... That’s
real
classy.”

“Classy and fashionable—you’re damn right.”

Lomez led Scorcher into his house. Not surprisingly, it was jam-packed with people. More cheering and clapping erupted at the sight of Lomez gracing the indoor party-goers with his presence.