The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (2 page)

Zamir coughed. “You didn’t…show me your power...”

“Like you said—” Bruce leaned in so that only Zamir could hear him: “You’re too
insignificant
.” Zamir stared. He was prepared to stomach Kasparov’s victory, but not his impudence. In a fit of rage, he spat at Bruce, who instantaneously raised his forearm to prevent the spit from striking his face. Bruce watched the saliva dribble down his uniform sleeve. “Not smart,” growled Bruce. He proceeded to clean his sleeve on Zamir’s face as Zamir screamed profanities at him. Bruce tore off the flag from Ristani’s uniform. “You’re a disgrace to your country, Commander.”

***

One week later.

New York City, 6:00 p.m.

The news teams and press were gathered amongst hordes of citizens at City Hall. The New York City mayor stood behind the podium at the base of the steps and was ready to address the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, people of the press: We are gathered here today to honor the brave men and women who fought valiantly overseas to keep the peace between Kosovo and Yugoslavia. Albanian extremists threatened international security by their actions and brought about a situation that demanded our intervention—to save lives and prevent the continuation of the war. Speaking on behalf of the American forces today is an officer in the U.S. Army Special Forces and a decorated war hero, Captain Bruce Kasparov!”

Bruce stood up from his seat and walked towards the podium to raucous cheering. He shook the mayor’s hand, where mutual thanks was given, then proceeded to take his place behind the podium. Bruce looked over the restless crowd and raised his hand, waiting for silence to fall. It happened surprisingly quickly under Kasparov’s commanding presence. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd:

“Zamir Ristani’s attempts to destabilize the current peace efforts between Yugoslavia and Kosovo were unsuccessful and a backslide into war was averted.” Bruce paused, and a sea of people joined him in rapt silence. “Ristani and all of his lieutenants have been apprehended.” The crowd erupted in applause upon hearing these words.

“Way to go, Captain!” someone cried out amongst the cheering and clapping.

Bruce waited until the applause died down, then continued: “The KFOR and U.S. military have thwarted Ristani’s efforts to acquire weapons of mass destruction. His use of hostages and terrorism to pursue his own political agenda was a failure. I’m proud to say that the hostages have been freed. All weapons that were in Ristani’s possession have been confiscated, and no casualties were suffered in bringing down Ristani at his penthouse.” Cheers rang out from the crowd, which quickly turned into a standing ovation.

The mayor stepped back on stage, joining Bruce by the podium. “Thank you very much, Captain. The floor is now open to questions.”

Bruce knew this was coming, but his gut reaction was still the same.
Holy crap.
It was like he was handing out food to starving dogs:
loud incessant barking and no shame
. Bruce found the entire scenario rather amusing. He pointed at reporters and began to take their questions, one by one:
 

“Captain! Now that Ristani has been captured, is there any need for U.S. troops to remain in Kosovo?”

“A large portion of U.S. troops have, in fact, been pulled out of Kosovo, seeing as the threat level has been greatly reduced. We will gradually extract the rest of our forces over the following months as order is restored. However, there are still remnants of the KLA at large who can pose a threat—and there is always room for imitators.”

“Captain! Captain!” A short man with dirty-blonde hair and a red baseball cap pushed through the crowd. He hardly looked like a reporter. He raised his video camera to the podium with one hand and a microphone with the other. “There have been rumors you are part of the secret society known as the Omega Ops Legion; is there any truth to this?” Bruce looked down curiously at the man.

“Please keep the questions on topic, thank you,” the mayor interjected.

The short man, however, continued to press the subject: “But is it not true that the Legion was involved with the Kosovo efforts and capturing Zamir Ristani?”

The mayor looked disgruntled and was ready to tell off this young punk, but Bruce cut him off: “It’s alright, Mr. Mayor. I’ll field this one.” Bruce looked down at the man. “What’s your name, friend?”

“Jerry Stiltson from Shocktalk Radio. Big fan of your work, Captain.”

Bruce grinned. “Likewise. Your program puts out some entertaining stuff in the morning.” Jerry looked at Bruce eagerly while pointing the microphone and video camera towards him. Bruce chose his words carefully: “Well, Jerry, the U.S. efforts in Kosovo were precisely just that. It was a United States military operation and—”

“So, are you denying you have any involvement with this secret society?”

Bruce paused a moment, then smiled. “It’s not a secret society—we just don’t advertise. But yes, I
am
affiliated with the organization.” In that instant, the press conference appeared to stop in time. Then slowly, mixed murmurs and buzzing filled the crowd. Jerry was absolutely thrilled with his scoop.

“So then, the Omega Ops Legion was involved in Kosovo, you heading the operation and all?”

“My orders to lead a team overseas came from the U.S. military, not the Legion.”

A new reporter interjected, with a tone of derision in his voice: “How can someone in the U.S. Army be involved with such an organization? Does it not boil down to an international vigilante group that holds itself above the law and government?”

Bruce continued to smile. “Members of the Omega Ops Legion are peacekeepers, mentors, and philanthropists. We share many of the same goals as local and international authorities: to stop crime and maintain peace.”

“Why not just join the police, then? Why is the Legion necessary?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Necessary? This isn’t something that just sprang up overnight. But frankly, the more eyes watching from different vantage points, the better. And I can tell you this:
clean up starts right here in New York
.” As if pushing buttons on the podium, Bruce repeatedly pressed his finger into the wood, ready to drive home his message: “Alongside the NYPD, we’ve been cracking down hard on the drug and weapons trade facilitated by gang-bangers and the mob. It’s an ongoing battle that won’t let up, but neither will we.” The crowd broke into applause at these words, for they knew Bruce was not just a big talker but also a man of action.

Two men at the back of the crowd, Freddy Vickers and Ramon Salazar, watched Bruce deliver his talk, but neither seemed too impressed. “Boss isn’t going to like this, Ramon.”

“Not one damn bit,” Ramon mumbled, with a cigarette in his mouth. “Something’s gotta be done about him.” He fired up his lighter.

“Excuse me, but do you mind putting out your cigarette?” a lady asked, irritated by the smoke.

Ramon put the lighter back in his pocket and turned to the woman. “How about I put it out on your head?”

The reporters continued to have a shouting match with each other as Bruce attempted to answer as many questions as he could.

“Is this Omega Ops organization backed by any government?”

“No, we have no official ties to the government—all of our endeavors are privately funded. Although, we do have members within government and military positions, such as myself.”

Several angry looking men pushed to the front of the crowd. “The Legion is a shadow government planning to overthrow democracy! They’re in league with the New World Order in plotting for social collapse!”

Bruce tried his best to calm the rabble-rousers. “Now that is entirely untrue, we work together with—”

“You’re a traitor to this country!” A man hurled a large tomato towards the stage. Bruce caught the tomato, absorbing the impact so it wouldn’t break.

“I believe this is yours!” Bruce whipped the tomato back at the man, which hit him straight in the face and exploded. People laughed and cheered while police surged into the crowd to remove the delinquents. Bruce tried to restore order, shouting over the noise: “Let’s try to keep it civil, shall we?!” But the crowd was growing restless as several would-be instigators fought back against security.

 Frank Cormac, who was sitting by the podium, walked over to Bruce with a smirk on his face. “Good job keeping things civil. Truly top-notch work.”

“Hey, Captain!” Jerry the shock jock yelled. “Rumor has it that the Legion conducts experimental bioengineering and has turned you into a modern day super-man. Any truth there?” The question drew several laughs as well as hushed whispers.

“Let’s see you do a few laps around City Hall with your super-flight!” a person in the crowd cried out.

“Let’s see it, Smallville!” shouted another.

Bruce grinned. “Right—maybe some other time. The crowd’s got enough action as it is.”

***

Wednesday, October 6th, 1999

Manhattan, New York, 8:00 p.m.

“What—the
hell
were you thinking?! Do you even have the slightest inkling of what you’ve done?!”
 

Bruce looked at Dr. Guthrie with mild amusement. “Relax, Teddy. Eat something—you’re blowing this
way
out of proportion.”

Dr. Theodore Guthrie was a doctor of medicine and a philosophy scholar. Despite being viewed as a bit of an oddball by his academic colleagues, he played an integral part within the Omega Ops Legion. Dr. Guthrie was primarily responsible for coordinating and organizing the Legion’s efforts across North America. He never stayed in one place long, mainly travelling between California and New York. He was meticulous and well-connected to fit the role. In addition to this, Teddy was invaluable as a resource for getting people the things they needed.

Today, Dr. Guthrie had called an impromptu meeting to ‘discuss’ Bruce’s press conference at City Hall. The meeting was taking place at the Legion mansion, home of Bruce Kasparov.
Though the title deed was in Bruce’s name, it was financed by several associates and Legion members to be used as the headquarters for their North American chapter.
Present around the dinner table were Bruce Kasparov, Theodore Guthrie, Frank Cormac, and Legion members Peter Santos and John Varick.

“Take it from me, Teddy—” Frank paused to fork a large portion of ravioli into his mouth. “It really wasn’t that bad—I was there.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes. “Frank, remind me again why you’re
here
? This is a Legion meeting and you’re not part of the Legion.”

“Well, Bruce said he’s making pasta…so here I am, stuffing my face with it. Besides, the amount of time I spend running around with these guys, I’m basically a member by association.” Frank grinned with sauce on his lips. “You mind passing the juice this way, Teddy?” Dr. Guthrie sighed and handed the carton of orange juice to Frank.

“Listen, all I’m saying is that we have no reason to hide,” Bruce argued. “There’s no harm in answering a few questions.”

Teddy scoffed in disbelief. “It’s not about hiding, but the less the general public knows, the better. You didn’t have to tell the world that you were involved with us.”

Bruce smirked. “So, I was supposed to lie?”

“You were supposed to say nothing!” yelled Theodore, losing his temper. “Anything you give the press will just turn into a giant media circus.”

Bruce couldn’t help but get a little annoyed himself. “Oh please, the truth is far more preferable to all the rumors that will spawn from me refusing to talk. I say nothing, and they’ll assume the worst.”

Varick decided to toss his two cents into the squabble: “All due respect, Bruce, the public can think what they want. We have a job to do—we’re not out there to win any popularity contests.” Varick had jet-black hair, a goatee, and was in exceptional shape for a man pushing forty—he had to be for the type of thing he engaged in on a daily basis. Although he was no longer a part of the GSG-9 special operations unit in Germany, his Legion training sessions kept his field skills sharp as ever.

 Bruce was surprised to hear Varick against him. Normally, he could count on Varick to back him up when dealing with Teddy. But before Bruce could respond, Santos countered on his behalf:

“Well, how can we be expected to do our job properly when we don’t even have the trust of the people we’re supposed to be helping?”

“Don’t be naive,” Varick spat. “The time for talking is done. Our actions are what will define this organization.”

Santos shook his head. “Not if they never find out what we do and leave it to a clueless media to feed them their truths.” Varick scowled darkly at Santos. Bruce could sense trouble.

Santos was an orphan that had grown up alongside Bruce in a foster home. He had greying blonde hair and a short, scruffy beard to match. Like Bruce, Santos was among the most powerful members in the Legion, having undergone extensive training and attaining guardian rank within the organization. Varick and Santos both got along well with Bruce, but not with each other. “I don’t think you’re seeing the big picture here, Varick,” Santos stated simply. Varick had enough. He stood up and walked towards Santos, who remained seated, looking curiously at Varick. Frank put down his fork to watch.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bruce interjected, standing in-between the two of them. “What’s done is done—we’ll have to agree to disagree. Teddy, I stand by what I’ve said. So how about we stop wasting time on this piddly nonsense and attend to more pressing matters—like the best course of action to contain Scorcher’s expansion attempts and keep him from tearing this city apart from the inside out.”

Teddy removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “Fine.”

***

The Chital Co. Tower, Manhattan:
An office high-rise, where various, seemingly legit businesses are conducted. The catch was that the owners of the building worked for the notorious super-criminal known as Scorcher. Whether they were aware of it or not, everyone in the building was on the payroll of the world’s largest crime syndicate.