by Mike Brogan
“I’m not supposed to leave the front desk, sir,” the young man said in decent English.
Moto assumed that.
“You don’t have to. Just give me a key and I’ll return it to you after I’ve treated him. Time is of the essence with his diabetes. He sounded very woozy. Couldn’t get out of bed. I’m worried he could become critical if not treated quickly. I’m sure you don’t want him to die on your watch. All the paperwork. The police. The mess. The bad PR for the hotel.”
The young man thought about that, then turned around, cut a new card key and handed it to Moto.
“Please return the key here, Doctor.”
“Of course.”
“Should I call an ambulance now?”
“No. I’ll let you know if that’s necessary.”
Mr. Moto got on the elevator and headed up to the third floor. He got off and walked down a hall and stepped into a laundry room. Behind tall towel racks, he took some things from his bag, then stepped out of the room.
He walked on down the hall, turned the corner, and saw a large man reading a paper in a chair outside Krugere’s room.
Bodyguard.
Moto had anticipated a bodyguard and walked up to him.
“I’m Doctor Yamamoto. My patient, Mr. Smith, is inside. He’s diabetic and requires my services urgently. On the phone minutes ago, he sounded very weak, like he was experiencing a serious episode of low blood sugar. I’m very concerned. I rushed over here.”
“He said nothing to me.”
“He can’t. I fear he might have slipped into a diabetic shock. I should check. The receptionist approved.” Moto showed him his room key.
The guard nodded and took out his own key. “Okay . . .”
Moto let a syringe slide down his sleeve into his palm.
As the guard stuck his key in the slot – Mr. Moto stuck chloral hydrate into the guard’s neck.
The big guard tried to grab Moto, then froze, wobbled a bit, and slumped to the ground. His eyes rolled, and seconds later fell unconscious. Moto slid the guard’s key into the slot, opened the door and dragged the sleeping guard into the dark room. The chloral hydrate, an extra strong Mickey Finn, would keep the guard unconscious for about three hours. He’d wake up with a headache and wonder how five, crisp, one-hundred dollar bills wound up in his pocket.
Mr. Moto locked the door, turned and heard heavy snoring. He stepped farther into the dark room and saw the wheezing hulk of Kurt Krugere. On his bedside table sat an empty bottles of Jack Daniels and some prescription pills.
Moto took a SIG Sauer from his coat pocket, attached a suppressor, and stepped closer to the bed.
He tapped the suppressor gently on Kruger’s forehead.
Krugere bolted upright and stared into the gun barrel.
“What the FUCK?”
Mr. Moto stared down at him.
“Mr. Krugere, your actions have killed hundreds of innocent people, maybe thousands, and injured thousands more.”
Krugere said nothing. He looked toward the door, expecting his bodyguard to rush in and save him.
“Your guard will be asleep for a few hours.”
Krugere looked like he was awakening from a nightmare – and stepping into a real one.
“You also caused great financial harm to AsiaCars and Global Vehicles, two honorable companies.”
Krugere seemed wide awake now.
“And specifically you caused serious financial problems for a good and decent friend of mine.”
“Who is it? I’ll make it up to him.”
“Yes, you will. In addition, Mr. Krugere, I’ve seen solid evidence that you massacred two Iraqi families with young children in Desert Storm. But you hid the fact, and you did not make it up to them.”
Krugere looked surprised but said nothing.
“In brief, you’ve been a serious disappointment to many people, Mr. Krugere. Innocent people and families. Do you have anything to say about all this?”
Krugere paused. “Yes! I deny it all! How much do you want? Name your price. I can give you a million dollars.”
“We know you can. We’ve located your millions!”
“What?”
“We have access to your millions, Mr. Krugere. We’ve found where you’ve hidden your money in numbered accounts in the Caymans and other countries. We even found the millions you embezzled from AsiaCars.”
Krugere coughed and swallowed hard. “But I have millions. Just tell me how much you want, and it’s yours!” Krugere blinked, then wiped the sweat off his brow with the sheet, his eyes never leaving the gun.
“I can give you millions!”
“You’re about to. Thanks to these documents.”
“What documents?”
“These!”
Mr. Moto showed him the bank transfer documents prepared by Chang’s attorneys.
“You will sign them now.”
“But that’s all my mon -”
“- sign them now if you want to live, Mr. Krugere.” Mr. Moto raised his SIG Sauer.
Krugere looked into the gun barrel, then at the papers, realizing their significance. Sweat rolled down his face. His purple silk pajamas were drenched black with sweat. He quickly saw that the papers authorized that his off-shore accounts totaling eighty-four million dollars be split fifty-fifty and wired to two accounts for victims of the surges.
“That’s all my mon -”
“- not quite all! We left you a million and change in a Swiss account.”
“Just a mil - ?”
Moto nodded.
Krugere stared at the documents.
“I can say I was coerced.”
“Bad decision.”
“Why?”
“Because you have just ten seconds to sign these papers. Or I will pull this trigger. Then our expert forger will sign them for you. She’ll also sign your suicide note, which expresses your profound regret for the surge deaths and injuries you caused and why you are bequeathing this to the victims’ funds.”
Moto pushed the gun barrel hard into his temple.
“And don’t alter your signature, Mr. Krugere. We know precisely what it looks like. Our forger can replicate it perfectly.”
Krugere signed the four documents.
Mr. Moto placed the signed papers in his medical case.
“Smart move. The money will be directed to the many families you injured.”
Defeated, Krugere stared blankly at the signed documents. “I don’t deserve this! My surge program was trying to save the traditional American auto industry!”
“No, your surge program was killing and injuring innocent men, women, and children!”
Krugere said nothing.
“One last thing,” Mr. Moto said.
“What?”
“I lied.”
“About what?”
“About letting you live.”
EPILOGUE
MANHATTAN
Madison, Kevin, Hank Harrison, Pete Naismith, Agents Neal Shaw and Hugh Hayden, Brooke Daniels and other team members dined at a corner table in Club 21’s famous Bar Room.
Madison looked around the charming room. She’d dined here a few times with clients who loved seeing 21, and being seen there, especially in the Bar Room with its wild assortment of ceiling decorations.
As usual, the room was jammed with corporate heavy breathers, showbiz celebrities, regulars, and bug-eyed tourists soaking up the star atmosphere.
Pete pointed up at a sleek Air France airplane model suspended from the ceiling. “That’s an SST Concorde.”
“I flew one from New York to Paris in like three hours and ten minutes,” Hank Harrison said.
“I stood longer in an airport security line last week,” Kevin said, smiling.
Pete pointed at the ceiling. “Look – that’s Drew Brees’s New Orleans Saints football helmet.”
Madison noticed its smudge marks. “Looks like Drew took some hard whacks.”
“He did,” Hank Harrison said. “An
d guess what - a senator wants to mandate helmets for self-driving cars!”
“Women will fight it,” Madison said.
“Why?”
“Hair.”
A white-coated waiter, a smiling young blond man, took their drink orders and returned with them a minute later.
Hank Harrison raised his whiskey and smiled at Madison and the others. “May no company ever again face what all of us just went through.”
Everyone clinked their drinks and sipped.
“And may no Bruners, Van Horns, Krugeres, Stroms, and Chensens ever contaminate the human-gene pool again,” Pete Naismith said.
“And . . . to our best ad agency team ever,” Harrison added.
“You saying that cuz we’re paying for dinner?” Madison said.
“Yes.”
Everyone laughed.
“Actually, Madison,” Hank said, “Global Vehicles is delighted to pick up this dinner. Thanks to your new ads, our GV sales are climbing nicely now. And thanks to the NSA and US satellite scientists finding Bruner’s surge program hidden on a North Korean satellite, they managed to delete and destroy his surge programs. So here’s to them.”
Everyone sipped.
“What about us poor FBI guys? Are we chopped liver?”
Harrison smiled. “I told the Director of the FBI that Agents Neal Shaw and Hugh Hayden are the best ever!”
“What’d he say?”
“Never heard of you!”
Everyone laughed.
Hank turned serious, turned to Brooke Daniels, and raised his glass. “And here’s to you, Brooke, especially you. Without you, we might not have known about Bruner, or found his cabin . . . or his house in Romulus. So thank you for all that. And I’m delighted to tell you that Engineering Director Jefferson informed me that he has promoted you to an executive position in our engineering department based on your past excellent performance reviews. Director Jefferson will give you all the details tomorrow.”
Brooke blushed, looking shocked. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”
Everyone lifted their drinks to congratulate Brooke.
Madison noticed Agent Neal Shaw smiling again at Brooke Daniels beside him. Madison was delighted that Brooke and Neal had become close friends in the past three months. Make that very close. And since Shaw was being promoted to a top position in the FBI Detroit office, they’d see each other often. Things looked good for them . . .
The waiter appeared. Madison ordered the fresh Dover Sole, Kevin the rack of lamb, Pete the snapper. She looked around their table and realized that it still bothered her that one of her own people, Chase Chensen, had helped Van Horn and Krugere to set up the surge program. Last month, Chensen was found guilty of terrorist activities and sentenced to thirty-five years without parole. Also, the three men who tried to drown her in Napeague Bay were caught, tried and sentenced to twenty years.
But mostly it bothered her that Krugere, the CEO psychopath who ordered the surge, had escaped overseas.
Dinner was served. Her Dover sole was delicious.
“Any news on Kurt Krugere?” Madison asked Agent Shaw.
“I was saving Krugere for dessert,” Shaw said.
Everyone faced him and waited.
“This morning, I received a call from one of our agents in Asia. They located Kurt Krugere. He’s been hiding in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.”
“Are they extraditing him back here for trial?” Pete asked.
“Cambodia doesn’t extradite citizens back to the US. But they’re making an exception in Krugere’s case.”
“Why?”
“They extradite corpses.”
Silence.
“The Cambodian police say he died in his hotel bed.”
Madison remembered Krugere as a thick-chested Type-A mesomorph. “Heart attack?”
“Assassin. They ruled out a hotel robbery, since Krugere still had thousands of dollars visible in his hotel room. Krugere’s bodyguard was rendered unconscious by the assassin. The police have video of him. Tall, thin Asian. He pretended to be a doctor there to help Krugere in the hotel room. Although the doctor was in disguise, the police think he might be a well-known Japanese hitman, a man known as Mr. Moto, The Fixer. He delivers justice to major criminals who hide from justice.”
“How’d he find out about Krugere?”
“We don’t know.”
Everyone sat in silence.
“But there’s some amazingly good news.”
Everyone waited.
“A short time before Krugere died, he signed papers which wired his offshore bank accounts deposits, eighty-four million dollars to two charities . . . half to GV owner victims who were surged . . . and half to a numbered account in San Francisco that helps surge victims and AsiaCars employees who lost their jobs because of Krugere’s surge program.”
“Who hired the assassin?” Hank Harrison asked.
“We figured you did!” Agent Shaw smiled.
“Crossed my mind!”
“Actually, we don’t know who hired him. But Krugere had enemies. Many of them in AsiaCars Corporation. He made bad business decisions that destroyed a number of AsiaCars dealerships and jobs. And recently, all AsiaCars dealers hate him because car buyers blame him and their brand for the XCar surges.”
Madison said, “Our research agrees. But car buyers mostly blame Krugere.”
Harrison said, “Some excellent AsiaCar dealers asked me to become Global Vehicles dealers. They want to sell our cars. We’ll probably sign some up as dual-brand dealers. Our image is recovering.”
“Great!” Madison said, as her phone vibrated.
She stared at the text message and blinked to be sure. Her eyes filled with tears.
Harrison continued, “As a result our sales are growing nicely each and every day.”
She whispered to Kevin, “That’s not the only thing growing nicely each and every day.”
He looked at her. “What else?”
She showed him a text message she’d just received. “According to Dr. Lyons, our baby is.”
Know anyone who might enjoy reading...
Available at:
1 (419) 281-0200
orders@bookmasterscom
Amazon.com
MikeBroganBooks.com
Bookstores
ISBN: 978-1-7338037-0-0
Also by Mike Brogan
BREATHE
Doctor Nell Northam is abducted by men to help them launch a weapon. The President asks his top security advisor, Donovan Rourke, to stop the attack. But when Donovan and Nell are finally ready to stop it – they realize they’ve been deceived – and that thousands of Americans are about to die.
Available at:
1 (419) 281-0200
orders@bookmasterscom
Amazon.com
MikeBroganBooks.com
Bookstores
ISBN: 978-0-9980056-7-6
Also by Mike Brogan
KENTUCKY WOMAN
As an infant, Ellie Stuart is adopted by a poor, but loving couple in Harlan, Kentucky. When she’s sixteen, they die in an accident, leaving her completely alone in the world. In college she searches for her biological parents with the help of a law student, Quinn Parker.
But as she gets close to finding them, an assassin tries to kill her.
When they finally discover why – it may be too late – and Ellie and Quinn have to run for their lives.
Available at:
1 (419) 281-0200
orders@bookmasterscom
Amazon.com
MikeBroganBooks.com
Bookstores
ISBN: 978-0-9846173-9-5
Also by Mike Brogan
G8
Donovan Rourke, a CIA Special Agent, discovers a man named Katill will assassinate the world’s eight most powerful leaders at the G8 Summit in Brussels in three days. The President asks Donovan to handle the G8 security. Donovan agrees...but reluctantly. His wife was murdered there, and he blames himself.
In B
russels, Donovan works with the European G8 Director, Monsieur de Waha, and a beautiful translator named Maccabee. They learn that Katill is the same man who murdered Donovan’s wife.
They also learn that Katill has just penetrated the G8’s billion-dollar wall of security.
Donovan sees the world leaders walking into Katill’s deathtrap! He tries to warn them – but it’s too late...and then his worst nightmare happens right before his eyes.
Available at:
1 (419) 281-0200
orders@bookmasterscom
Amazon.com
MikeBroganBooks.com
Bookstores
ISBN: 978-0-9846173-0-2
Also by Mike Brogan
MADISON’S AVENUE
First, she gets the frightening phone call from her father. Hours later, he’d dead. The police say it’s suicide. But Madison McKean suspects murder – because her father, CEO of a large Manhattan ad agency, refused a takeover bid by a ruthless agency conglomerate. Madison inherits his agency – and his enemies. When she and her new friend Kevin zero in on the executive behind her father’s death, they soon discover an ex-CIA hitman is zeroing in on them.
MADISON’S AVENUE takes you inside the boardrooms of today’s cut-throat, billion dollar corporations – to the white sand beaches of the Caribbean – to the high hopes and low cleavage of the Cannes Ad Festival...a world where some people take the phrase ‘bury the competition’ literally.
Available at:
1 (419) 281-0200
orders@bookmasterscom
Amazon.com
MikeBroganBooks.com
Bookstores
ISBN: 978-0-692-00634-4
Also by Mike Brogan
DEAD AIR
Dr. Hallie Mara, an attractive young MD, and her friend, Reed Kincaid, learn that someone has singled out many men, women and children to die in ten cities across the U.S. in just a few days.
But because Hallie has no hard proof, the police refuse to investigate. When Hallie and Reed try to find proof, they unearth something far beyond their worst fears. And as they zero in on the man behind everything, the man zeros in on them. Barely escaping with their lives, they finally convince the police and Federal authorities that a horrific disaster is imminent. But by then there’s a big problem: it may be too late.
