Kill on Command (52 page)

He felt the engines slow down.  He figured they were back at the docks.  The rain was subsiding. It was pitch black.  He had no idea how Sergei managed to get them back safely through the heavy seas.

Sergei backed the
Crazy Mary
into the slip like he had grown up on boats.  Pavel was there on the dock to tie the boat off.  Sergei killed the engines, climbed down and entered the cabin.  Sean was still sitting on the bench.  Pavel came in as well.  They said nothing.  Pavel already knew the mission was executed flawlessly.  Sean picked up his backpack and slipped it over his shoulder. 

“I’m going to get in the truck.”

“Sure,” Pavel said and flipped him the keys.  Sean left.

Sergei walked to the shower, closed the door and started the water.  Part of him thought that Sean would take the opportunity to run.  He got out with a towel around his waist.  Pavel looked over at him.

“How did he do?”

“Perfect.  He’s good.  Very good.” 

“I am not happy about how this is supposed to go.  I like him.  I know Ana likes him.  It seems cruel,” Pavel said.

“It will be fine.  Just stick to the plan.  He’s strong,” Sergei replied.  He liked Sean too and did not like the plan either.  However, it was his daughter he was thinking about.  He didn’t know if she could, or would execute her part of the plan.  It was going to be very hard for her.  However, it was her plan.

Sergei dressed, picked up one of the bags and headed for the truck.  He placed the boat keys into a mail slot on the door of the marina office.  The Mercedes was still there.  Sean was in the back.  They put the bags in the cargo area and got in.  Pavel was driving. 

“I thought you were going to run,” Sergei said.

“I’m not going to abandon you guys.” 

Pavel looked over and frowned at Sergei.  Sergei ignored him.  Pavel backed up and drove out of the parking lot.  He went up A1A to International Speedway and made a left.  Nothing was open.  Not even the biker’s strip club.  Pavel turned left before the Speedway and headed towards the airport.  He went past the terminal and followed a sign to the executive airport.  Pavel stopped and they got out and took care of the bags.

“This is where we say goodbye,” Sergei said to Sean.

“What?  What am I supposed to do?”

“Head home.”

“How the hell do I do that?”

“Take the Mercedes.  It’s yours anyway.  Or, should I say, Mason’s.  The title is in the glove box.”

Sean put his head on the hood of the truck and looked back up at Sergei.

“What is going on?  What am I going to do now?”  Sean asked.  He was tired, confused and frustrated.

“It will come to you.”  Sergei turned and entered the terminal.  He didn’t look back, went through the door and was gone.

“Bike shop my ass,” Sean uttered in Sergei’s direction as he climbed back into the Mercedes.  Now he just wanted to get the hell out of there.   He headed back to International Speedway Boulevard and took a right for the ramp for I-95 north.

Sergei and Pavel loaded their bags onto a Gulfstream G650.  They both were looking forward to catching some sleep on the plane.

XVIII

Case Closed

Pittsburgh - Wednesday Morning

Brian woke up to his phone ringing.  He reached over to pick it up, but his ribs were still wrapped, causing him to move like an old man.  He got it on the fourth ring.

“This is Ippolito.”

“Good news.  The case is closed,” Detective Jenkins proudly announced.

“That’s impossible!”  Brian yelled.  He looked over at Bailey’s empty bed and quickly looked away.  Tears filled his eyes.  He had been there when Sean brought her home as a puppy.

“The Feds came in and tied the dead guy on your lawn to the murder of Willis.”

“You said his prints had been burned off.  How did they tie it?  He’s a John Doe,” Brian challenged.  He struggled to get to his feet.

“MO.  Ballistics.”

“That’s a little fast and very circumstantial.” 

“I suppose.  I am happy to have it wrapped up.”

“I’m not.  What about the men in the hospital?” Brian asked.

“What men?  We don’t even have blood on the floor.  There are no bodies.  No footage from security cameras.”

“Damn it!  What about the woman?  The chopper?”  Brian yelled, getting more and more frustrated.

“Listen, don’t yell at me.  I am just the messenger.”

“You’re right, sorry.”

“No problem, Brian.  I know you have been through a lot.  As I was saying, the Feds think it was the same guy.  When he attempted to kill you in the hospital and missed, he tried to finish the job at your house.”

“The person in the hospital was a woman.  She was not there to kill me! The man in my yard was at least six five,” Brian snapped, losing his temper again.  Jenkins let it go.

“They are pretty sure it was the same person, Brian.”

“It is not the same person!  I don’t buy it.  This is wrong.”

“How is it wrong?” the detective countered.

“My friend is missing.  The woman . . . .”

“What woman?  There’s nothing on her.  No pictures.  No prints.  She does not exist.  It’s a dead end.  Your doctor friend was too traumatized to remember anything.  She can’t help.”

“The pilots?  They had to have seen her,” Brian challenged.

“They remember seeing your friend being taken.  Not much more.”

Brian didn’t say anything for a moment.   He thought about the blurry image of Sandy he had, but decided not to share that information.  He had called Cindy to ask her to stop the search yesterday.  She asked why, but he wouldn’t give her an answer.

“Look Brian, I think this stinks to high heaven, but I am relaying what was passed down to me.  Look at the facts.  The Feds have linked a man who tried to kill you and then died trying to kill a handful of other cops to Willis’ murder.  He’s clearly a cop killer.”

“OK.  I get it,” Brian said, letting it go – for the moment.

“Feel better, buddy.”  Jenkins hung up.

Brian sat down on the bed.  The house was quiet.

XIX

Breakdown

Shadyside

Thursday - Noon

Sean made good time in the Mercede
s.  He stopped at a motel to catch a few hours of sleep near Parris Island, South Carolina.  He thought about what was going to happen to him.  His whole life had changed in the span of five days.  Would he be arrested?  Was he going to jail?  Would he be shot on sight?  Were other people out there just looking for the chance to shoot him – eliminate him?  In his mind, without a doubt, he was a loose end.

He drove all day and didn’t get into Pittsburgh until late on Wednesday night.  He chose to check into a cheap motel in Moon Township and head over to Shadyside in the morning.  He didn’t know what to do with the truck.  He thought he could sell it, but he didn’t want the money.  He thought about giving it away.  Everything in his life now seemed to be tainted.  It made him sick.

His hotel room was slightly better than the dump he stayed in with Sergei and Pavel, but not by much.  He woke up late on Thursday morning and put his rotten clothes back on. The huge Mercedes V-8 instantly roared to life with the push of a button.  Sean sat in the driver’s seat looking at the gauges.  The G550 still had the “new car” smell, but Sean did not notice.  To him it carried the repugnant stench of his last eighteen months.  He was drowning in his thoughts.  Thoughts of murder.  Thoughts of deception.  Thoughts of loss.  He had no idea who he was anymore. He was filled with indecision.  He had no idea what was next.  Where was his life headed?

He snapped back to reality.  He needed to deal with the here and now.  Sean backed the truck out of the spot and headed towards downtown.  Shooting out of the Ft. Pitt tunnel made him smile a little bit.  He loved the view of the city.  It was good to be home.  He kept looking in the rear view mirror and through the sunroof.  He expected a police helicopter to be following him.  There was nothing behind him but an old lady in a Buick.  He turned onto St. James Street and decided to just park the car on the street a block away from the house and walk.  He loved this time of year in Pittsburgh.  The leaves were starting to change.  The air was crisp, but the sun kept the temperature just right.  He pulled on the backpack and began to jog, again expecting police cars to surround him.  Sandy said nothing would happen.  She said nobody would come looking for the men he killed.  He wanted to believe her.  He was trying to get over the nasty feeling he had about what he had become.  How many people had he killed?  He really didn’t know.  He tried to rationalize it.   He killed them before they could kill him.  Was it self-defense?  Doubtful. 

Sean stopped at the top of the driveway leading to Brian’s house.  The door was boarded up.  So were the front windows.  The yard was a mess.  There were ruts where car tires had torn up the grass.  Sean ran down the driveway and around the back.  He jumped in one bound onto the deck and stopped before he got to the kitchen door.  There was plywood where the old window had been.   He was not sure he should go in.  He had brought this to Brian’s house.  This pain.  This violence.  He felt like he was going to barf.  He didn’t have a chance to decide.  The door opened.

“SEAN!  MY GOD!”  Brian said, grabbing him.

Sean could not speak.

“Where were you?  Are you OK?”  Brian asked, looking him up and down.

“I’m fine.  I am sorry this all happened.  Are you OK?  I was told you were attacked,”  Sean said, looking around in disbelief.  He thought Bailey should have been out here by now.

Sean whistled for her.  He didn’t hear her paws on the hardwood floor.  He whistled again. 

“Sean.  Sean.”  Brian put his hand on Sean’s shoulder

“Where is she?”  The color drained from Sean’s face as he came to the realization that she was not coming.

“She died saving my life.  She took a bullet for me.”

Sean fell to his knees on the deck and broke down.  Brian crouched down, put his hand on Sean’s shoulder and just let him cry it out.

“Brian.  I am so sorry.  I don’t have a real family.  You and Bailey are my family.  I let you down.  Thank god she was there,” Sean said, trying to get up.  Brian tried to help him but his ribs were too painful to allow him to be much help.

Brian tried to smile.  He was devastated.

“We always joked that her only job was to play ball and protect the house.  I never thought she would have to,” Sean said.

Then he noticed the bandages around Brian’s ribs.  He pointed at them.

“The vest caught three of the shots.  The rounds still cracked a rib or two.  The nut was coming into the kitchen to finish me off.  Bailey was outside and flew through the window and saved my life,” he explained, while trying to hold back his own tears. 

They walked inside.  Maria had come over to help Brian clean up the day before.  The mess from earlier in the week was gone.

“I was able to get out a distress call in time and we shot him down in the front yard.  He took something like twenty-three rounds.” 

In the living room Sean saw the holes in the walls.  The furniture was gone except for the coffee table.  The room smelled of freshly cut plywood.

“The furniture was shot up as well.  The new windows and doors will be in this week.”

“I will pay for it,” Sean said.

“No, you won’t,” Brian replied, quickly.  Sean looked around the room.  He did not know what to say.

“Who was he?” Sean asked, breaking the silence.

“John Doe.  His hands had been burned.  We couldn’t identify him.  They pinned the murder of a cop on him.  We killed him before he had time to set off a grenade.  We were lucky.  He could have killed a lot of people.”

Sean collapsed on the floor and leaned against the coffee table.  Brian stood there silently.  Sean looked awful, but Brian felt he had to ask about Sandy.

“Where is she, Sean?”

“I don’t know.  She disappeared.” 

“How did you know her?”

“You would not believe it if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Sean shook his head, and got to his feet. 

“Later.  Not now.”

Brian saw the patch on his backpack.

“What’s this?”

“A friend gave it to me.”

“Oh.”  Cops knew what the patch meant.  Brian wondered what Sean was involved in.

“Where is Bailey?”  Sean asked, turning as he got to the stairs.

“The vet is holding her body.  I was going to make arrangements today.”

“Thanks.  I will take care of it.  I am going to change.  I’ll be right down,” he said sadly and slowly climbed the stairs.  His feet felt like they weighed five hundred pounds each.  He could barely move.  His spirit was not completely broken, but it was close.   He took off the backpack and closed the bedroom door.  He leaned against it and slid down to the floor and rested his head against the door.  He stared straight ahead, tears streaming down his face.

Brian picked up the phone and made a call.

“Yes.  He’s here.  Can you make it over?”  Brian hung up the phone, went into the kitchen and got a beer.  He opened it, threw the cap on the counter, took a long drink and looked at his watch. 

Sean tried to pull himself together.  After ten or fifteen minutes, he stood.  It was obvious Maria had cleaned the room from top to bottom.  There was a Fed-Ex pack on the bed.  Sean ignored it and went into the bathroom.  He turned on the water and stripped off his filthy clothes.  He would toss them in the trash later.  He looked at his shoulder.  Pavel had done a good job with the stitches, but he still needed a Tetanus shot.  He sure as hell was not going to UPMC for the shot.  He was going to have to hit a “doc in the box.”  He stepped into the shower.  It was good to be in his room and not in a fleabag motel room or getting bounced around on a fishing boat.  He got out of the shower and shaved, wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom.  He pulled open a drawer and took out a pair of jeans and a faded navy polo shirt and laid them on the bed.  The box again caught his eye.  He picked it up, half expecting it to explode.  He ripped the tab off and dumped the contents on the bed.  The Euros and a stack of $100 bills fell on the bed along with several sets of ID and credit cards.  He shook his head.  There was also a cell phone and a folded piece of paper.  He opened it.

Sean,

I have packed everything you will need for the short term.  After you open this, take it to a bank and get a safety deposit box.  You need to keep the IDs safe.  When you can, dial the number below.

Love,

Sandy

                                          323-555-2334

Sean ran his hands through his hair and looked at the phone.  He didn’t want to call her.  He was already furious, but ended up dialing the number.  She picked up instantly.  She was at her father’s house in California.

“Sean!”

“Yes.”

“You are OK.”

“Not really, Ana, Sandy or whatever your name is.  You haven’t told me everything.”

“What?”

“You knew Bailey had been killed.”

She did not speak for a moment.  Her hands were shaking.  This was the part of the plan her father was worried about.

“No.  I did not think it was the right time.”  She was sitting on the bed in her room.  The windows were open and the breeze was blowing the thin, white curtains back and forth.

“What do you mean the right time?  What the hell does that mean?  Who are you people anyway?”  Sean looked at his reflection in the mirror as he spoke and touched the light scar on his neck.  He could barely see it anymore.

Ana was quiet for a moment.  Her hands were trembling as she held the phone.  She felt nauseous and her voice sounded weak.  Her words were anything but weak, however.  They were cold, calculated and cruel.

“Sean.”

“What?”

“I’m not really pregnant.”

“Oh!  Another surprise!” he replied.

A tear ran down Ana’s cheek.

“I told you what I needed in order to manipulate you.  I needed you to take care of a problem I had.  I knew your weakness.  I knew your strengths.  I pushed your buttons to get what I wanted.  You are an errand boy.  A toy.  Now, I am done with you.”

“A honey trap.”

“Call it what you want,” she responded, her voice now dripping with venom.

Sean hung up and threw the phone against the wall.  It shattered − bits and pieces of it flew all over the room.  Ana held the phone in her shaking hands and then burst into tears.  She curled up onto her bed. Her father’s Boston Terrier was sitting next to her and poked her with his paw.  He did not like seeing her cry.  He finally curled up next to her and she put her hand on his head.

Downstairs Brian heard the phone slam against the wall.  So did his guests.

“Your friend OK?” the Pittsburgh Police Commissioner asked.

“He’s fine,” Brian said, forcing a smile. 

Sean got dressed and went downstairs.  When he got to the bottom, he saw a canine unit and some old guy in uniform.  Part of him wanted to run back upstairs and jump out the window.  Instead, he stepped into the living room.

“Sean, this is Commissioner Welch,” Brian said.  Sean extended his hand.

“Sean, it is good to meet you.  I am glad you are back and OK.”

“Good to meet you.”  Sean was puzzled.  What was he doing here?

“This is Officer Pete Meyers and his dog ‘Coach.’”  Sean shook his hand and smiled at Coach.  The dog sat at attention and studied Sean.