Kill on Command (39 page)

“Good.  Please have the second team ready in Boston to keep an eye on him.”

“Yes sir,” she said and hung up.  She lost sight of him, turned and walked out of the terminal to a waiting car.  The car left the airport and did not bother to circle back around to see if Waters came back out.  Nor, did they leave a team to see if he got on the plane.

He didn’t.

Waters had a snack in the terminal, sat down and read his newspaper, then walked back out of the terminal and picked up a red Toyota Camry from Hertz – it was about as plain as you could get.  There was no way he was going back to Boston.  If Garrison was going to kill him, he would have to find him.

What Waters did not expect, was a second surveillance team.  This team was not sent by Price.  It consisted of one man, one who had decided to stick around the airport.  He was prepared.  He followed Waters as he made his way down Pennsylvania Avenue to The Willard Hotel. 

Waters pulled up to the front of the hotel and was met by a valet, who took his car. 

Seconds later, Waters’ tail pulled up and watched him walk into the hotel.  The watcher decided that Waters was there for the night, so he let the valet take his car, something he normally would have avoided.  The valet opened the door and a short man of nearly sixty years of age got out of the Nissan Altima.  He used an old wooden cane to help him walk.  He took the ticket from the valet, handed him a $20 and made a special request.

“Please keep this close by.  I will have a second $20 for you when I pick it up.  I would greatly appreciate the help,” the older man requested with slightly accented English.

The valet, who could not have been more than nineteen, seeing a chance to make an easy $40 under the table, smiled.

“That will not be a problem, sir.  Here’s my cell phone number.  Please call me when you are ready and I will bring it right up,” the kid said.

“Thank you,” the man replied, as he turned towards the hotel entrance. 

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?” the man said, turning to him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Russian would you?  I recognize the accent.  I am studying Russian at GW,” the valet said, nervously.

The old man smiled.

In Russian, he quoted an old, Russian proverb that was also popular with Ronald Reagan, “Trust but verify.” 

The valet was moving his mouth trying to say the phrase and translate it.

Then, again in Russian he said, “Tell me the meaning when I return and I will give you a fifty.” 

As the old man passed through the doors, he saw Waters standing in line to check in. Limping slightly, the Russian walked up behind Waters.  He used the cane to help him with his progress.  He was dressed in a tweed jacket, brown pants, a tan shirt and well worn brown shoes that looked like he might have picked them up in St. Petersburg forty years ago.  Waters did not notice the old man standing behind him.

The old man looked harmless.  That was the idea.

Waters checked in using an alias and as he turned to go to his room, he bumped into the old man.  Waters dropped his briefcase and the old man bent over to pick it up.  He handed it to Waters, who did not say so much as a thank you and proceeded to his room.

What Waters did not notice was that in the collision, the old guy pricked him quickly with a small, specially designed needle.  It delivered a microscopic tracking devise just under Waters’ skin.

As a bonus, the old man heard Waters’ alias and got his room number.

The clerk at the front desk saw what had happened and leaned forward over her desk.

“Are you ok?” she asked him.

“Yes. Yes.  I am fine,” he responded, pretending to catch his breath.

“Welcome to the Willard.  Are you checking in?” she asked.

“Yes.  Thank you.”  He felt for his wallet and a look of concern came over his face.

The clerk watched him.

“Oh, no.  I am afraid my wife has my things.  She will be along shortly.  She’s coming from a party.  Do you mind if I wait for her in the lobby?”

“Not at all sir.  Would you like some coffee?  I can have some brought over to you.”

“That would be very kind.  Thank you,” he said.

He turned and made his way slowly to one of the wing back chairs.  He leaned the cane against the side of the chair.  “This certainly is more comfortable than Afghanistan and Chechnya,” he thought to himself.  Exquisite marble columns supported the hotel’s soaring gilded ceilings.  Antique urns filled with small palm trees created a soothing effect on the lobby.  The hotel had done a fantastic job of creating luxurious warmth.

A waiter brought over coffee shortly after he sat down.  He thanked him, gave him a nice tip and then waved at the clerk behind the reception desk.  He took a sip of his coffee and then pulled out a phone from his breast pocket.  He began typing.

1000:  He is at the Willard.  Room 612.

1001:  Good. The devise?

1000:  In place.

1001:  I see.  It is active.  Thank you old friend.

1000:  I can take care of this for you now.

1001:  I know you can, but this is my responsibility.

1000:  I will be ready when you arrive.

1001:  Thank you.

The old man looked at his cane as he placed the phone back in his pocket.  Hidden inside the cane was an eight-inch blade that he would not hesitate to plunge into Waters’ heart.  He was going to have to wait, however.

He took a couple more sips of his coffee and pulled his phone back out.  He dialed the valet’s number to bring the car around.  He picked up his cane and hobbled towards the front of the hotel.  The valet was waiting for him.

In Russian, the man said, “Well?  What do you have for me?”

The valet smiled.

“It means, trust and verify,” the kid said proudly.

The old man laughed and pulled $50 out of his wallet and handed it to the valet.

“Very good!  You earned it.  Keep studying,” he said.

The valet helped him with the door, closed it and watched the car pull out of the hotel and onto Pennsylvania Avenue.

The Russian tossed the cane in the back seat.  He didn’t need it and probably never would.  If jumping out of airplanes didn’t damage his legs, nothing would.  Not even Father Time.

Waters might have escaped Price, but he now had someone much worse, one step behind him.

BOOK V

‘Tis safer to be that which we destroy

Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

- Lady Macbeth

I

And the Devil Appears

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Abdulaziz’s Palace

With the unexpected death of Prince Abdulaziz Al Saud, his oldest son, Saeed, had assumed the role of Prince and proved to be every bit as despicable as his father - just in a younger more irrational package.  Where age had made his father wise or at least wise enough not to flaunt his passions, his son was very open about where he went and what he did, which did not please many in the Kingdom.

Ahmed and Faisal now worked for the new Prince and though Saeed was extremely volatile, Ahmed actually preferred working for the son.  He was finding it easy to manipulate the new Prince’s wild emotional swings.  Ahmed saw the Prince’s instability as an opportunity for personal gain.

Faisal did not share Ahmed’s outlook and believed the behavior that he already experienced around the Prince would end badly for all involved.  Faisal now led the Prince’s security detail and had inherited his personal security team.  They were weak, lazy and poorly trained and he advised Ahmed to bring in new men but his request was ignored.

In the days after his father’s death, the new Prince had been consumed with revenge and he badgered Ahmed and Faisal at every turn.  Involvement from Israel had quickly been ruled out and the trail had gone ice cold.  Ahmed knew he needed to produce something.  The break came from an unexpected source, an old email account that had gone dormant for more than two years.  Suddenly there was activity.  

Robert Waters did not want to contact the Saudis directly, and believed Pasco was the lesser of two evils.  Waters sent a message to Oscar Pasco’s personal email account with the promise of a big payday.  Waters’ analysts had told him that Pasco was still using the account, but was doing a fine job of masking his location.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: 
[email protected]

RE:  AN OPPORTUNITY:

There is money to be made.  The associates of the man your counterpart murdered will pay for his capture or death.

Respond and more details will follow.

It took less than one hour for Oscar Pasco to respond to Waters.  Oscar was not stupid and knew immediately where the email was coming from and that Waters thought Garrison was the easier target.  It was clear to him that once Garrison was out of the picture, he would be next. 

After reading the message, Oscar devised a plan that would get him paid and also eliminate Garrison and Waters.

TO: 
[email protected]

FROM:  
[email protected]

RE:  AN OPPORTUNITY:

Hello Robert.  Yes, I know it is you.  What do you have for me?

Pacing in his hotel room, Waters cursed Seamus McFarland.  Pasco’s intelligence and broken mind made him dangerous and Waters knew he should have cut this man from the program when he had the chance or had Pasco executed.   In Waters’ mind, he was still running things and there was no way he was going to acknowledge Pasco’s identification of him.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: 
[email protected]

RE:  AN OPPORTUNITY:

Here is the address of the man who can pay you.  I would expect $1 million each is a fair price.

[email protected]

(Attached were photos of Sean Garrison and Ana Molotov or Sandy, as Robert Waters liked to call her.)

Oscar created a new email account and reached out to the contact.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:  [email protected]

RE:  REVENGE

I can give you the heads of the three people who took the Prince’s life. 

Contact me through this address, if there is interest.

Ahmed was more than skeptical but, of course, he needed to produce results and his fear outweighed his need for caution.  The sender knew what had transpired, claimed to have the names of the perpetrators, the man that sent the assassin to Cannes and he knew the old address. It almost seemed too good to be true, but despite his doubts, he decided to share the details with the Prince.  

The Prince was watching a soccer game on an enormous television in what he considered to be his office, which had been his father’s office before him.  However, little work was ever done there.

“Your highness, I have a lead,” Ahmed said, bowing as he spoke.  The sounds of the game filled the room and the Prince was screaming at the screen.

Faisal stood nearby.

Pulling himself away from the game, the Prince shouted, “Finally!  I was beginning to believe my father had employed an incompetent dolt all of these years.” 

“I have made contact with a man that can give us the names of the two responsible and their boss.”

“GOOD!”

Ahmed was startled as the volatility was something he was still getting used to.

The Prince continued yelling at Ahmed, “Where is he?  Bring him here!” 

Ahmed’s answer was rehearsed and quick, as he had played this conversation in his head prior to entering, “I would not risk bringing him to the Kingdom.  It is safe to assume this man is a security risk.  Faisal, do you agree?”

Faisal did not respond, but nodded.

“WHERE THEN!  WHEN!  I WANT THEM SLAUGHTERED!”  The Prince could not control his emotions and in many ways was no better than a child, a cruel child at that, with millions of dollars at his disposal and a team of violent men surrounding him waiting to act on his whims.

“I suggest the
Scimitar
.  We can secure it,” Ahmed answered.

A sick smile came across the Prince’s face when he replied, “Like you did before?”

Faisal hated Ahmed, but wanted this conversation to end.

“You Highness.  If I may?” he said respectfully.

The Prince nodded.

Faisal took a couple of steps forward and began to speak in a low tone of voice in a simple, logical manner that would resonate with the Prince.  “Ahmed is right.  The boat makes sense.  However, you should not be there.  Ahmed and a security team should go.  We can use the boat’s teleconference capabilities for you to take part.” 

The Prince clapped his hands.  “Now I see why my father trusted you.”  He looked at Ahmed and issued the orders.  “Make it so.  Now!  I want these people dead before the end of the week!” 

Ahmed bowed and left the room.  He entered the small office he was granted in the palace, logged onto his computer and reached out to Oscar Pasco.

TO: 
[email protected]

FROM: 
[email protected]

RE:  RE: ANSWER

Meet me in Cannes at 11 A.M. tomorrow.  The Marina.  We will meet you on the dock at a boat named the
Crescent
. 

Oscar smiled and looked around the casino.  He blurted out, without caring who heard it, “How fortuitous!” He was enjoying himself in Monaco.  He was not far from Cannes.  Not far at all.  He was looking forward to milking the Arabs for all he could.  He already had put together a stellar plan that would make him rich overnight and as a bonus, he would get to kill the man he believed was his only threat, Sean Garrison.

TO: 
[email protected]

FROM: 
[email protected]

RE: ANSWER

See you there.

Ahmed assembled a security team to accompany him and departed for the airport.  It was a six-hour flight and Ahmed wanted to be there in plenty of time to prepare for their guest.

Faisal was slightly surprised that the Prince had taken his advice to stay in the Kingdom. However, he secretly wished whoever this man was would dispatch both the Prince and Ahmed.  He desperately wanted out of the nasty rut his life had fallen into.

The next day, Oscar Pasco drove up the coast to Cannes.  He arrived at exactly 11 A.M.  After all, he was going to ask for nearly $5 million.  He appreciated Waters pricing advice, but Waters did not realize he was on the menu now.

He parked his car in front of the marina and strutted through the lobby holding an envelope.  He did not care for the place and was more focused on the money he was going to make.  Exiting on the water side of the building, he put on a pair of Oakley sunglasses.  For Oscar, he was dressed up.  He was wearing black dress pants and a black shirt without a jacket and had also taken a shower.  He smoked a cigarette as he made his way down the dock towards two Middle Eastern men standing behind a boat.  Oscar stopped when he was a couple of feet in front of them.  They did not speak, but were ready for trouble.  He glanced over at the name on the back of the boat. 
Crescent
.  He looked at the two men.

“I have something for your boss,” he said in English.  He spoke Arabic as well as they did, but he saw an advantage to not letting them know it.

“Hands up,” one of the men said in broken English, gesturing with his gun. He snatched the envelope from Oscar’s hand.

Oscar put his arms up.  He was smiling.   The guard started to pat him down, while the second man trained a gun on Oscar.  They did not find any weapons.  Just a phone, a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches.

“Go!” the man with the gun shouted at Oscar and pointed to the boat. 

Oscar complied and stepped aboard.  When he stepped on the ship, a third man waved a wand over Oscar’s body. He found nothing.  Oscar looked around the deck and decided to get some sun and have a smoke.  He sat down on an expensive-looking lounge chair, lit his cigarette and looked over at the Arabs. 

“So, what’s next?”  Oscar shouted, clapping his hands together, causing the men on the deck to jump.  He took a long drag and then blew the smoke out, smiling to himself.

The guards already hated Oscar.  In Arabic, one of them told the captain to leave the marina.  The guards watched him, but discounted his abilities.  They were all bigger than Oscar, and besides, he seemed to be more interested in getting some sun and smoking.

It took nearly twenty minutes to reach the
Scimitar
.  More guards appeared on the deck of the larger yacht, as it approached. The smaller boat pulled alongside and Pasco and the three guards boarded the
Scimitar
.  Pasco was immediately met by another set of guards that repeated the same security process.  In Arabic, the guards made a nasty comment about his hands, which were stained by the tobacco.

The guards escorted Oscar to a conference room on the upper deck of the ship.  It was magnificently furnished with an antique table and chairs. A large screen was mounted on the wall at one end of the room. There was only one man sitting at the table.  It was Ahmed, who refused to stand.  One of the guards handed Ahmed the envelope and the phone.  Oscar took a seat at the head of the table to the left of Ahmed and facing the screen.

“I did not tell you to sit!”  Ahmed said, outraged.

“I did not ask,” Oscar replied, pulling out another cigarette.

“There is no smoking in here!” Ahmed shouted, jumping from his seat.

Oscar lit his cigarette and ignored the outburst.

“I thought you asked me here to take care of a problem for you,” Oscar replied in English.