by Bill Brewer
After sailing past the isle of Crete, the Mediterranean becomes the Aegean Sea. An extensive archipelago delineated the Aegean from other waters of the Mediterranean, and sailors had to navigate carefully to avoid running aground on the many islands and shoals. Barney Pinsdale was very familiar with the region and slowed the pace, paying close attention to guiding the Sue Ellen. Diegert felt like he was back at day one. The movement through this region required a lot more adjusting of the sails, according to Barney’s directions. As they continued north, passing the islands of Naxos, Lesvos, Chios, and Limnos, they would soon drop anchor at the port of Alexandroupoli.
Barney slowed the pace and kept the boat out on the open water. The winds were calm, the air was balmy, and a bright half-moon hung in the sky, casting shadows across the deck.
Following their evening meal, Barney played a Brahms violin concerto in D major, which put them both into a contemplative mood. Barney took advantage of the tranquility, saying, “Son, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Diegert looked at him with surprise, because, although Barnard Pinsdale was a very kind sea captain, he had never called Diegert “son” before.
“This whole trip may have seemed to you as a chance encounter, but I was in fact in Mogadishu to pick you up.”
Diegert turned his head, wrinkling his brow as he intensified his gaze at Barney.
“Do you believe fate or chance has more to do with determining the events of your life? Do you think all that has happened to you was simply a series of random events?”
Diegert could detect the rhetorical nature of these questions, and he folded his arms across his chest and remained silent.
“The contact you made on the darknet, his name is Aaron Blevinsky, and he’s the operations manager for Crepusculous, a secretive and very powerful organization. Your actions in Paris and Athens, as well as your adaptability, perseverance, and improvisation in Mogadishu, impressed those who are watching.”
“Wait a minute. I found you with a gag in your mouth chained to the galley table.”
“An unfortunate occupational hazard when you sail into a port full of pirates. You can now imagine how glad I was to see you.”
“This doesn’t make sense.”
“Was I not the only sailing vessel in the port with its mast still intact?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it not fortunate that the two men guarding my dear boat were nowhere near as committed as the thugs on the docks?”
“True, they did go down awfully easy.”
“I arrived a little early and underestimated the pirate’s perceived value of the Sue Ellen. I thought they were only interested in large commercial vessels now. I can assure you, however, that I wouldn’t have been in those waters were I not assigned to your extraction.”
Diegert was getting angry; he didn’t like the idea of being a pawn in someone else’s game.
“Who’s behind all of this? Who are the people watching me?”
Barney raised his hands in order to calm him. “Please let me continue, and it will all make sense. Did I not listen to your stories without interruption?”
Diegert rolled his eyes and looked away before returning his attention back to Barney.
“Once contact was made on the darknet, it allowed Blevinsky to directly influence your actions. The jobs in Miami, Paris, Athens, and Mogadishu were all sanctions that were authorized and orchestrated by the Board of Crepusculous.”
Barney stopped talking and let the last word sink in. Diegert sat quietly feeling both angry and naïve. Shouldn’t he have realized these were all connected? Of course the hits carried out for the employer were connected but being observed and selected without notification was both flattering and disconcerting.
“What is Crepusculous? It sounds disgusting.”
“Crepusculous means ‘in the shadows.’ It also refers to twilight at the beginning or end of the day. I can’t tell you who they are, but as an aggregate, they are the most powerful people in the world.”
“The world?”
“Yes, they possess tremendous wealth and control global corporations; they are a select few who cooperatively influence governments, markets, and the worldwide economy. We like to think that no one is above the law, but that is not true. The Board of Crepusculous follows its own code and conducts its business as it sees fit to preserve the world order as it deems appropriate. Their influence infiltrates all aspects of government on every continent, and the most important thing to them is power. They stay in power by being unknown.”
“And I’m one of their hit men.”
“You have been a contract agent for them, but they also train and maintain their own squads of special service operators. You’ve been selected to undergo training at their facility in Romania.”
“Romania?”
“Yes, we’ll dock at Alexandroupoli in the morning. You will be met by a vehicle that will take you across Bulgaria into Romania and on to a Crepusculous training facility.”
“Do I have a choice in this?”
“Of course you have a choice. You can choose not to go with them, and you’ll be a free man in Alexandroupoli, Greece. You’ll no longer be a passenger on the Sue Ellen. You’ll have to avoid apprehension on your own, because you’re a wanted man all over the world.”
With his chin in his hand, Diegert shifted his gaze away from Barney.
“I can’t be certain, but the instructors in the facility could use you as a training target.”
“What?”
“Capturing or killing you would be the type of mission that would put the skills of developing operators to the test.”
“Do they have it in for me?”
“Not at all, but your rejection of their interest would change the nature of the relationship. Hunting you down and taking you out would be a challenging mission and would assure that what I’m telling you is not broadcast.”
“Will you tell them to kill me?”
Barney’s wan smile revealed his recollection of Diegert’s lethality. “Not at all. I won’t be asked to make any suggestions. The instructors plan the training, and they won’t speak to me about it at all. I’m just telling you this because of things from the past.”
“So I really don’t have a choice,” Diegert said with his gaze fixed across the deck of the boat.
“Your choice to be independent will result in capture, conviction, incarceration, and probable execution. Or you can join a program designed to support and enhance the lethal capabilities you’ve already demonstrated.” Without turning his head, Diegert shifted his eyes to meet Barney’s. “You’ve told me that you plan to make your living by killing people,” Barney continued. “Since I have seen what you can do, I believe you will find Crepusculous to be an ideal place for you to practice your chosen career.”
“I’ll become one of the horses in a stable of assassins.”
“You, my friend, will be a stallion. Besides, don’t they owe you some money?”
Recalling he was owed for the Mogadishu job, Diegert nodded.
Raising another question he had been holding on to for some time, Diegert asked, “Whose guns are those in the case?”
“They belong to you.”
Diegert looked at him quizzically.
“I mean they belong to you now,” Barney said.
“Well, I suppose I should thank you, but to whom did they belong before now?”
“You’re not the first assassin to be a passenger on the Sue Ellen. I have worked for Crepusculous for many years as a courier of operators. A free-moving ocean vessel is an ideal insertion and extraction vehicle to deliver and retrieve operators to and from missions. That case of weapons belonged to a previous operator, Shamus McGee. A fun-loving and funny Irishman who, like you, had a killer’s instinct. He and I traveled extensively; he learned to sail, like you, and he became conflicted about what he was doing and found the big open space of the ocean a good place to contemplate the role he was playing. One night
, we went ashore in Tunis, and as we were heading back to the boat, we were ambushed. I was hit with a Taser and drugged. When I came to, I was back on the Sue Ellen.”
“And you think it was Crepusculous? There could have been many people who wanted an accomplished corporate assassin dead.”
“Aye, you’re correct, but there was a note stuck in the cabin door. It said Shamus had been killed and I was to set sail before morning or the Sue Ellen would suffer a drone strike. Only Crepusculous has the capacity to strike with their own drones.”
“What have they got on you that keeps you working for them?”
“We all have our secrets, which others can exploit. It’s best you not let anyone know yours. You can grow close to someone when you’re together out at sea. I used to think of Shamus as the son I never had, but I’ve learned not to grow close to you guys anymore.”
Diegert looked to the floor of the deck.
Barney continued, “Shamus’s weapons will serve you well. He’d like to know they went to the right person, even though you and he are very different.”
“How so?”
“Shamus would’ve let Omar Pascal live, and he would have set those pirates adrift. He was a good Irishman, he loved his Guinness, and he was a hell of lot funnier than you. You seem more suited to this life. I don’t think Shamus ever found a way to absolve himself like you have.”
Diegert lifted his gaze and held the old man’s stare as Barney delivered the next statement.
“I think you have a very dark future in this dirty business. You seem to be free of remorse.”
The quiet of the half-moon night enveloped them, and Barney suggested that Diegert go below and get some rest before they switched the watch. Staying up on deck, the old man thought of why he still worked for Crepusculous. His own attempt at being an assassin had failed miserably, but not without criminal guilt. His skills at sailing provided a reliable option for the movement of assets. Barney, a man who loved the sea, had found a way to make his living sailing the waters of the world. He’d learned to accept the compromises that allowed him to be the constant captain of the Sue Ellen.
24
On the dock the next morning in Alexandroupoli, Diegert stood at the side of the Sue Ellen with his MK 23 in his pocket and the case of weapons clutched in one hand. He shook Barney’s hand, saying, “I hope to voyage with you again one day.”
Barney took Diegert’s hand, firmly replying, “It would be an honor to have you as a passenger again, no matter what the circumstances.”
The two men smiled, and Diegert turned and walked off the dock and into the parking lot of the marina.
As he crossed the dock’s gangplank, two big guys dressed in black with their pants tucked inside their tactical boots were standing next to a vehicle that looked like an Eastern European version of the Hummer. Diegert eyeballed them, anticipating their indication that he was to ride with them. The two guys ignored him completely. As he walked, Diegert kept looking back at them, convinced that they would soon recognize him. “Ahem…Mr. Diegert?” said a voice that startled the assassin and made him step back to look at the person now in front of him. “Are you David Diegert?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I am here to give you a ride to Videle, Romania.”
“Okay.”
“The truck is over here.” The young man walked over to a Derways Plutus dual-cab pickup truck. The guy looked to be maybe twenty-one, with long, dark curly hair and an unkempt, scruffy beard in need of a shave. He was wearing loose oversized khaki cargo pants right out of the nineties and a T-shirt with Super Mario brandishing a shotgun and an assault rifle. He had a cigarette in his hand, from which he took a long drag as they approached the truck. “You can put your stuff in the back.”
When they were both seated in the truck, Diegert drew his pistol and grabbed the guy by the collar, pulling him across the cab. The guy looked at the pistol inches from his face and didn’t say a word, although his lips were quivering, and he was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps.
“Tell me about Crepusculous,” said Diegert.
“I don’t have a disease…I don’t what you’re talking about.”
“What’s your name?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you before. I am Beduna Lucianus. My uncle owns a cab company in Bucharest. Usually I just give people rides around the city. We use this truck to move stuff, refrigerators, washers, stuff like that. Please, you put the gun away now?”
“I will decide when the gun goes away.”
Diegert loosened his grip on the young man’s shirt. His obvious fear and complete lack of any defensive actions told Diegert this kid was just as he appeared, a slacker cab driver. They both sat back in the seats of the truck, but Diegert held the gun on Beduna.
“All I know is my uncle tells me to drive down here and pick you up. Why you cannot take a train or a bus, I do not know, but now you’re getting a cab ride all the way to Videle, over seven hours of driving. You tell me what is so special?”
“Where’s your GPS?”
Holding out his smartphone, Beduna replied, “On my phone.”
“Let me see it.” Diegert scrolled through the GPS route and saw it was indeed the most direct route between the two places. Placing the phone in the center console cup holder, Diegert said, “Do not vary from this route. We only stop to piss, eat, and get gas. Understood?”
“Da.”
Placing the pistol in the plastic map pocket of the truck’s passenger door, Diegert instructed the young man, “Let’s go.”
Two miles into the trip, Beduna pulled a cigarette from his pack. Diegert reacted immediately. “No smoking.”
“What?”
“I said no smoking—I do not want you smoking cigarettes while you’re driving.”
“But I smoke all the time.”
Grabbing the cigarette from his hand and the pack from where it lay on the console, Diegert lowered his window and threw them out. Beduna slammed on the brakes.
“That pack was practically full. I’m going to get it.”
Diegert picked up his pistol and pressed it into Beduna’s ribs.
“You’re not smoking in this truck today, and if you don’t have cigarettes you’ll not be distracted. Now get your foot off the brake and continue driving.”
“FUCK,” shouted Beduna.
Leaning forward and getting right in the angry man’s face, Diegert said, “There’ll be no fucking swearing either, now drive.”
Fifteen minutes passed, during which Diegert said nothing and Beduna grew more angry and agitated. The Romanian driver turned on the radio, which loudly blared heavy death metal. The guitars screeched, the drums boomed, and the vocals were relentless, incoherent screams. Diegert let it go for two minutes, after which he turned the radio off and pulled the control knob from the panel. Beduna looked at him with even more anger when he realized Diegert had disabled the radio and placed the knob in his vest pocket.
“I hate that shit.”
“I thought you said no swearing?”
“I said no fucking swearing from you.”
One hour later, which was quiet and peaceful for Diegert and aggravating and annoying for the nicotine-deprived driver, they approached the border. Diegert checked their position on the GPS. The Greece-Bulgarian border was just a kilometer ahead, and the first city on the other side was Svilengrad.
“When we cross the border, let’s find a place to stop in Svilengrad.”
“Da.”
The place they stopped had gas pumps out front and a convenience store just steps away. Beduna filled the truck with gas while Diegert used the restroom and bought a bottle of water. Beduna paid for the gas and got a large coffee and a pack of cigarettes. Diegert, standing outside the store, stretched his stiff back. Beduna came out, saying, “Look, I will smoke only when we are not driving. You can hold the pack while we drive.”
“Okay, but give me the keys so I can move the truck and let other people use the ga
s pump.”
Beduna, with a cigarette already in his mouth, handed Diegert the keys and gleefully lit his smoke. The nicotine hitting his nerve endings must have felt really good, because it took him a few seconds to realize that Diegert had pulled the truck onto the road and was driving away. The dumbfounded Beduna fashioned a belief that Diegert must be doing something and then coming back. A full five minutes passed before it sunk in that he had been abandoned.
Diegert smiled, having rid himself of the annoying, drug-dependent wastrel. He had the GPS on the phone and a full tank of gas, and the kid knew nothing about Crepusculous and couldn’t provide him with any useful intelligence, so the whole trip would be better without him.
25
The drive across Bulgaria took Diegert four hours through rural countryside and small villages. After crossing into Romania, another hour and a half brought him to Videle. Videle had a few stores, a pub, a petrol station that also served as a mechanics shop, and several areas of mixed housing. “Mixed” meaning some of the places looked nice with lots of European charm, while others looked like impoverished hovels. The address Diegert was looking for was a couple more hilly kilometers outside of Videle. The building was a three-story gray structure with peeling paint and green slime water stains running down from the flat roof. It looked to be abandoned and in disrepair. It certainly was out of place in the forested land that surrounded it. Diegert checked the GPS; the phone indicated he was in the right spot. He thought to himself, I’ve come all this way for this? It must be better than it appears.
Diegert turned off the road onto the gravel drive and stopped at the gate. He opened the side window and looked at the camera with an exaggerated smile. The gate opened, and he drove to a small parking lot next to the building’s entrance. Two burly guys dressed in black combat fatigues and boots came out of the building and approached. Both men had sidearms on their hips. The first one said, “Welcome, please follow me.” Diegert motioned to the back of the truck. The second man stepped to the truck and lifted the case out of the back. The three of them entered the building.
