Kill on Command (3 page)

Faisal had tried several times to reach his men.  They were not answering.  When the
Crescent
approached no one emerged to assist them.  Something was wrong and Faisal knew the Prince was dead.

The crew of the smaller vessel was able to come along side the large yacht.  Faisal and Ali drew their weapons and boarded the
Scimitar
.  They sprinted towards the Prince’s bedroom, nearly tripping over the bodies of the crew.  They pushed open the Prince’s door and flipped on the light.  Ali stopped when he saw the knife.  Faisal walked slowly over and looked down at the Prince.  Blood had run down his face and was pooling on the sheets and pillow.   He recognized the knife.  A nasty thing.  He turned and looked at Ali.  Ahmed walked in behind him.  He did not touch the body.

“What?  Who could have done this?” he asked.  Faisal pointed at the knife.  Ahmed looked closely at it. 

“So?” Ahmed asked incredulously.

“It’s a knife favored by the Mossad,” Faisal replied.  Ahmed became furious. 

“Search the ship!” Ahmed was not so much saddened by the Prince’s murder, as he was concerned that the assassin could still be on board waiting for him.

“Ali, find the others.  Search the ship,” Faisal said, without emotion.  Ali turned and walked out of the bedroom.  Faisal followed.  Ali flipped on the lights to the hallway leading to the bedroom.  Faisal looked for any indication that his men might have at least wounded the assassin.  He saw nothing.  The assassin had gotten away clean.  It did not appear that his men had offered any resistance.  Faisal continued down the hallway.  The bodies of the crew lay at the end of the hall near bottom of the stairs.  It was then he saw a weapon at their feet.  Like the knife, it was a favorite of the Mossad, or so he thought.  He picked it up and examined it.  He pocketed the weapon, walked outside and he heard the panicked calls from Ali.  He raced up the stairs to the upper deck.  When he got to the top, he saw Ali, doubled over.  Sick.  One of his men was on the deck facing down with his head barely attached to his body.  The bodyguard’s blood had sprayed all over the deck.  From the amount of blood on the deck it appeared that the assassin had drained every drop of blood from their bodies.  He could see that his men had not died well.  He walked around and was shocked at the brutality.  No one spoke.  The second bodyguard had an axe imbedded in his skull up to the handle. The same type of knife that killed the Prince was sticking out of his chest.  The bodyguard was still sitting in the chair.  Faisal leaned over and looked at the blood that was smeared on the man’s suit.  It was obvious that the assassin tortured him briefly and wiped his knife off on his clothing before driving the axe into his skull.  He had no doubt that the same knife had killed the Prince.

Screams suddenly broke the silence.  Faisal ran to the stairs and looked down.  Ali followed.  Ahmed had Bridgette by the hair.

“This whore brought this upon us!”  Ahmed screamed.  Bridgette had her hands on Ahmed’s trying to release his grip on her hair.

“It is not possible.  Let her go,” Faisal said calmly.  Ahmed looked at him.  Faisal and Ali walked down the stairs.

“You do not give the orders!”

“Let her go,” he said again.  Ahmed relented.  The girl fell to the ground.  Faisal helped her up and into a chair on the deck. 

In French he asked, “What did you see?”   She paused and looked up at him.

“A man.  A man in a little boat.  He killed everyone,” she said, looking around nervously.

“One man?”  Ahmed said glaring at Faisal.

“What did he look like?  Tall?  Short?  Did you hear him speak?”  Faisal asked her.  Ali paced behind Bridgette.

“He was tall like you.  He had on paint.  I saw him through the window.  That was all,” she said.  She was nervously picking at her hands.  Her hair was in her face and her eye make-up was running down her face.  She was babbling. 

Faisal took a breath and removed the weapon he had found in the hallway from his pocket.

In Arabic, Ahmad demanded, “What’s that?”

“It’s a Beretta Px4 Storm.  The favorite weapon of the Mossad, but they also use many weapons. I wouldn’t jump to a conclusion too quickly,” Faisal answered.

Ahmed was clenching his fists.  He didn’t want his emotions to show, but he was seething.  “They will pay for this,” he said to himself

“What do we do with her?” Ali asked.  Ahmed looked at her.  Bridgette had no idea what they were saying.  She thought they spoke an ugly language.

‘Kill her,” Ahmed ordered in Arabic. Without hesitation, Ali grabbed her from behind and choked the life out of her.  Faisal turned around.  He could not watch.  Another innocent.  Ali tossed her body over the side.

“I must inform the Prince’s son.  We need to clean this up,” Ahmed said.  “I will get to the bottom of this.  There will be retribution.”

“I don’t think this was the Israelis,” Faisal said. 

Ahmed was normally a planner.  A thinker.  He had let his considerable intellect be swallowed by anger.  He could no longer control it.

“I don’t care what you think! It is obvious who did this!”  Ahmed screamed.

★★★

From the patio of the Majestic Barriere, the sniper watched a man emerge from the cool salt water and calmly walk up the beach to his room.

The assassin entered and closed the door and stood in the dark room.  The air conditioning gave him a chill.  Water ran off of his body and onto the floor.  His phone rang.  He picked it up.

“Ty Cobb is the Georgia Peach,” the voice said.

“Go on,” he said, listened for fifteen seconds, hung up and lay down in the bed. 

He went to sleep.

BOOK I

Accept everything about yourself – I mean everything, you are you and that is the beginning and the end – no apologies, no regrets.

-
Henry A. Kissinger

I

Sean Garrison

September 2012

Pittsburgh - Friday Night

Sean Garrison stretched his legs and looked out the window at the late afternoon image of downtown Pittsburgh a couple thousand feet below his first class seat.
  He heard the landing gear of the plane descend.

“Mr. Garrison, here’s your jacket. Thank you for flying with us.  I know you are glad to be home.”

“No. Thank you, Jennifer.  Remember, if you have a couple free nights in Pittsburgh you really need to check out Shadyside,” Sean smiled at the flight attendant.   Jennifer was easily 5’10”.  Most of it legs.  The dark blue USAir uniform looked great on her.  Her long black hair was in a pony tail that rested just so on her shoulder.  Her brown eyes had energy behind them.  Her olive skin looked so soft.  So inviting. . . .   “I think she likes me,” Sean thought to himself. 

There was definitely a difference between the back and the front of a plane and Sean was thankful every time he stepped on a flight.  Food, drinks, movies and a big, lay-flat seat.  His new job was treating him well.  They flew him all over the world first class, put him up in great hotels, all to do marketing research.  It sure as hell beat working for a sweatshop-advertising agency run by narcissistic tyrants.

Twenty-eight years old and already on top of the world.

The pilot slammed the plane down on to the runway.   It jolted Sean.  “At least we are on the ground,” he thought to himself.

“That’s a military pilot up there,” the old guy to his left said.  It was the first time the man had spoken in eight hours.  He was wearing a grey suit and a crisp white shirt.   He exuded confidence.  However, his most notable feature was a full head of thick, shocking white hair.  A pair of round glasses rested atop the biography of Teddy Roosevelt on his lap.

“How can you tell?”  Sean asked.

“They all think they are still landing on aircraft carriers,” he said, folding the glasses and placing them in an ancient case.

“Hmmm.  That’s interesting,” Sean said.  How do you really respond to that?  You want to be polite, but not so polite that the guy keeps talking which could make the short trip to the terminal seem like a second trans-Atlantic flight.

“I heard you describing Pittsburgh to the flight attendant.  What’s her name?  Jennifer?  Anyway, I think you are spot on.  It’s one of my favorite cities,” he said looking at Sean.

“You live in Pittsburgh?”  Sean asked while powering on his iPhone.

“No.  I live in D.C.  I am just visiting a couple colleagues tonight and driving home in the morning.”

“D.C. is a fun city.  What do you do there?”

“I’m a student of history.  I read.  I analyze.  I advise,” he said lightly.

“I like that,” Sean replied, thinking that a gig like that is not half bad. He nodded towards the biography on the man’s lap.  “Edmond Morris right? Teddy is my favorite president.”

“Really?  Why is that?”

“I suppose it was his quest for knowledge, his desire to experience life,” Sean replied.  The man nodded in agreement.

“Plus, he’s a guy I’d like to have a drink with,” Sean said with an easy smile.

“I second that,” the old guy said.  The man looked carefully at Sean and noticed a small scar on his neck.

“How did you get that?” 

Sean laughed slightly. “A pretty wicked bar fight.  One of the Pittsburgh Penguins slashed me with a broken bottle.  You should see him.  Not pretty.”

“Oh yeah?”

“No. . . .Actually, I was volunteering at a youth lacrosse camp four years ago and a ten year old accidently slashed me,” Sean explained, starting to laugh at his own story and unconsciously scratching the scar.

The old guy laughed again.  “Accidentally?”

“You know, now that I think about it, that kid was gunning for me the whole week.  He really had it out for me.  Could have been something I said . . . ”

The old guy smiled and finished packing his briefcase and glanced over at Sean.

“I kind of like the lacrosse version of the story.”

“Most do,” Sean answered.

The pilot taxied to Pittsburgh International’s C terminal without delay.  An announcement reminded everyone to remain seated, with seat belts fastened, but no one ever does.  The jet bridge pushed up to the plane and the pilot released the passengers with the ubiquitous bell.  Sean stood up and slipped on his suit jacket.  It was clean.  It was new.  A subtle navy pin stripe number.  Made to measure.  A suit that fit.   He had come a long way from the days of hauling clothes around in a duffel bag and having to borrow a sport coat before a meeting.  His legs and shoulders were sore.  Probably the flight from France - it is a long way, even in first class.

He turned around and looked into the back of the plane.  Even longer for them.  Everyone looked exhausted, sweaty and dirty, scrambling to grab their purses and laptops, consumed with collecting all of their belongings as fast as possible.  Everybody but one.  Her eyes were glued on the first class cabin, but Sean did not see her.

Sean turned back around and made sure his new friend could get past him.

“Well, please enjoy your stay here tonight,” Sean said.

“Unfortunately, it’s business.”  The old guy moved past Sean and smiled.

“Oh, make sure you get her number.  You certainly have put in the time,” he added.

“The old dog was probably the same as me twenty-five years ago,” Sean thought to himself.

Sean ran his hand through his dark brown hair and headed up the aisle for the door.  Jennifer was there smiling and nodded at him.  He knew she was checking him out.  He felt better than he ever had.  All the exercise had filled out his solid 215 pound; 6’2” frame and he estimated his body fat percentage had dropped to eight percent or less.  He had been eating like a king on the road with no effects on his physique.  “That’s what constant working out will do for you,” he told himself.

“See you next time, Mr. Garrison.”

“Looking forward to it, Jennifer,” he said, smiling and flashing his blue eyes.

He exited the plane and made his way up the jet bridge.  He still had to go through customs, but it wasn’t too bad in Pittsburgh.

Sean looked to his left as he entered the terminal and noticed that two men met the old man from the plane.  Both looked average.  Nothing special.  One took his brief case, the other handed him a folder.  The three headed towards the central terminal and the tram.  It looked like they were bypassing customs.  Sean thought nothing more of it.

He stood in line.  He talked to the agent who quickly waved him through.  A tall redhead stood ten feet behind him.  She watched him walk towards the central terminal.

It was 5 P.M. on Friday.  The terminal was full of people coming home from a long week of work and others heading out for the weekend.  He walked through the central terminal to the escalators, which took him to the tram that connects the gates with the main terminal.  He did not forget to touch the head of the life size Franco Harris Immaculate Reception statue located at the top of the escalators.  To forget would bring shame upon his home.

It is always best to get the farthest tram in Pittsburgh when leaving airport’s concourses since it drops you off closer to the main terminal. He walked onto the tram and leaned against one of the silver rails, attached to the side of the car.  He tried not to touch anything.  Same with escalator belts.  Nasty.  Never touched them.  He’d rather tumble down eighty-five pointy steel escalator stairs than touch one.   He already flew all over the world with sick, coughing people.  He didn’t want to pick up the Avian Flu from a dirty escalator in Pittsburgh.  Plus, he had read somewhere that the dirtiest things you come in contact with are escalator belts, hotel television remotes and pay phones.  He imagined these silver rails in the tram were #4 on the list.   He avoided them.   He had worked in the restaurant business too long.  He knew too much about germs.   While he thought about germs and where they came from, the redhead entered the car and stood five feet to his right.  He was oblivious.

Exiting the tram, he opened up his cell, hoping his ride was on the way.  He dialed Brian Ippolito, his best friend and also his landlord.

“Hey buddy, it’s Sean.  You on your way?  I am headed to baggage claim.”  Sean stepped onto the escalator that took him down to the baggage claim area.

“Oops.  No.  I kind of got tied up.  I can’t do it,” Brian said.

“You have got to be kidding me.  Come on man!”  Sean slung his briefcase over his shoulder and put his foot up on the baggage claim belt. 

“Tell you what, take a cab and I’ll treat you to a couple beers later at Doc’s.  That sounds like a great deal to me.” 

“It sounds like a shitty deal, but one I have to take.  Thanks a lot.” Sean moved his foot as the belt started moving.

“Anytime!  See you at home.  Bailey is waiting for you.  You know she does not like to be kept waiting.”  And with that, he hung up.

“Bastard,” Sean mumbled.  Sean’s bags were the first two off the belt.  He grabbed both bags and headed outside towards the cabstand.  The September Pittsburgh air was cool.  He heard voices shouting to loved ones, others cursing as they tried to make their way across the street to the rental car center.  He heard a familiar voice.

“Mr. Garrison, I thought you had a ride?”  It was Jennifer and two of the other flight attendants, following closely behind her.  He pivoted around to face her.  She was great looking and nearly as tall as Sean with the heels on.  Those outfits just always fit so nice.  The international flights got the first team girls.  Not the grannies you get flying domestic.

“Oh, hi Jennifer.  Call me Sean.” 

“Ok, Sean,” she said, stepping closer.

“My ride stood me up.  He promises to pay me back in beer tonight.”

“Oh.”  She took another step closer.

“I will believe it when I see it,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

“Do I make you nervous, Sean?” Her face was inches from his.  She smelled great.  She could have just jumped off the runway of an Italian fashion show. Cars and cabs were passing three feet behind him.  He didn’t notice.

“Why do you say that?”  

“You have a tell.  Every time I talk to you, you run your hands through your hair.  I like it and I love your chin.  The little dimple drives me nuts,” she whispered, stepping closer to him and caressing his chiseled jaw.  Jennifer’s flight attendant buddies were clearly not as taken with Sean and were trying to ease her towards the Hilton shuttle bus.

“Hmmm.  I think I have figured yours out as well,” he whispered.  He felt almost drunk when she spoke to him.  She was intoxicating.  Cars kept passing.  A Pittsburgh police car stopped right behind Sean.  The blue lights came on.   So did the horn.  Jennifer jumped.  Sean didn’t.  He knew who it was.

“Sean, are you in trouble?”  Jennifer’s friends grabbed her to lead her away.  The shuttle was leaving.  As she turned, she bumped into a woman with a red ponytail.  The woman hit her hard enough to knock her off balance.  The flight attendant sneered at the redhead who did not stop.  The redhead walked to a blacked out Tahoe and got in.  All she had was a backpack.  The flight attendant recognized her from the plane.  The flight attendants gathered their bags and climbed onto the shuttle.

Sean shouted, “I’ll be at Doc’s!”  He doubted she heard him.  A uniformed Pittsburgh police officer with a shaved head emerged from the driver’s side door.  It was Brian. He had shaved his head with several other police officers on a dare a couple of years ago.  He didn’t need to shave his head, he just liked the look.  Plus, Sean was convinced it pissed off his girlfriend.