Chasing Sergei: Dark Romance

by Aubrey Collins

  Mackenzie had attended several of the President’s campaign rallies in Ohio and Wisconsin, blending in with the civilians, and loving the energy that coursed through the crowd. People were angry. And hurting. And ready to fight. They were tired of being either laughed at or overlooked. They were tired of being told what they could or couldn’t say. And finally, they had a candidate, despite the fact that he was a billionaire who had always been pampered and spoiled, who could articulate their frustrations and once again make them feel like they truly mattered.

  His campaign rallies had filled stadiums. The crowds were yuuuuggggggeeeee!!!! The biggest crowds ever!!!! On more than one occasion, Mackenzie had gotten swept up into the crowd’ frenzy.”Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up! Kill the bitch! Kill that bitch!” They had chanted, less like outraged citizens, and more like enraged savages, lusting after blood and raw flesh. That was the enthusiasm which carried the campaign across the finish line, resulting in one of the greatest political upsets of the modern era.

  A lot of people who felt like coastal elites had ignored their voices used the ballot box to give a big middle finger to what they viewed as cold, cynical, greedy, and snobbish elite.

  Despite all of the enthusiasm and hope—or maybe because of it—which the President had inspired during the campaign, four months into his chaotic term had a lot of people except the absolute most loyal and blind of his supporters—feeing as if they had been duped. His ban on citizens from Muslim countries entering the United States had been ruled unconstitutional by several federal judges. The wall to keep out the wetbacks, which the President had promised the wetbacks would pay for themselves, was mostly likely going to end up costing American taxpayers millions of dollars.

  But the biggest problem that the White House, and specifically the President were facing, was the Russia investigation, which seemed to be expanding by the day. It was the FBI that was leading the investigation, and in Mackenzie’s mind, it was the goddamned FBI that needed to slam the brakes on it as soon possible. It had already gone on long enough. The only person that could really end it was the Director of the Bureau.

  A few months back, in the West Wing of the White House, there had been a meeting between the President and the not-yet-fired Director of the FBI, Richard Tomey. Far off in a corner, sitting around a candle-lit table, the two men dined on a five-course meal of pen seared jumbo shrimp, Maryland crab cakes, prime filet mignon and whatever else. Halfway through, the President leaned towards the Director and gripped his forearm. Then he stared deeply into the lawman’s eyes. “Richard, I appreciate your work so far. I really do. I just have one question. And it is very important.”

  The Director was most likely bracing himself. He couldn’t stand being alone with this man. Conversations so quickly veered off into inappropriate, legally speaking, territory. “Yes, Mr. President…”

  The President squeezed his forearm and smiled, tight-lipped. “I need to know…” The President would pause and stare deeply into the Director’s eyes, hoping to make him flinch or wince, hoping to make him submit. “Do you pledge your loyalty to me?”

  The color probably drained from the Director’s face. He was cornered. This was a point of no return moment. “President Dikshitt, Sir, as Director of the FBI I pledge my loyalty to the truth.”

  The President still tight lip smiling would have nodded up and down, then repeated the question. “Do you pledge your loyalty to me?”

  The Director probably swallowed hard, a sinking feeling taking hold of his stomach and soul. And he would have repeated his answer, “Sir, as Director of the FBI I pledge my loyalty to the truth.”

  Fate sealed. Off with his head. This just happened to be the night when the guillotine fell.

  While everyone else was running around town, like hogs with their heads cut off, Regional Director Mackenzie planned on enjoying himself, you might even call it celebrating. He had already been looking forward to this night for the past few days. The Director’s head rolling meant a path had been cleared for Mackenzie’s continued march towards powe. For more than twenty years he had dreamed of becoming the headman of the FBI. It was finally within reach.

  He had already been told that he would be on a short list of candidates who the President would be interviewing for the position. He knew that in a one on one situation, he wouldn’t have any problem convincing the President that he was the right man for the job, specifically the right man to make this bothersome investigation go away. The first move he would make in that direction would be immediately pulling Grabowski and Nicholson from the case. Even though she was just a rookie, and he seemed like he was only days away from being completely washed up, when they worked together they were probably the best team in the Eastern region working on this investigation. And he wouldn’t stop there with those two. He would show them no mercy. That little stunt they had pulled with the Russian dandy, or playboy or whatever he was, would be the only thing that they would ever be remembered for. Mackenzie was going to make sure of that. They would never work again in law enforcement—or in any other industry, quite possibly. They would all have plenty of time to spend together. Except for the Russian spy who would, according to Mackenzie’s inside sources, probably be dead before tomorrow’s sunrise.

  “Briiiiiiiinnnng! Briiiiiiiinnnng!” His personal cell phone began ringing on his desk. He picked it up and stared at the screen. He smiled. Angel Escorts.

  “Hello, Mr. Smoggy Bottom, is this you?”

  “Yes, this is Mr. Smoggy bottom,” Mackenzie said, chuckling. “Will Natasha and Catherina be arriving at the hotel at 2300 hours, as scheduled?”

  “Yes, sir. That is why I am calling you. Both of your companions will be arriving at the scheduled time.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Are you there yet, sir?”

  Mackenzie sighed. Mumbled something under his breath. He was waiting on Nicholson and Grabowski. They should have arrived more than an hour ago. He planned on dropping hints to them about easing back off the case. He figured that it would be better to execute this plan gradually. They could both be so damn volatile. But of course, he held all the most powerful pieces on the chessboard. They would have no choice but to submit.

  “Not yet,” Mackenzie finally said. “I’ll be heading over there after I take care of the last bit of business around the office.

  “Very good, sir. The girls will be waiting in room 29.”

  His eyes gleamed. He licked his lips. “Can’t wait.”

  A lusty grin lit up his face. This was going to be a five-star celebration. Five hours in the Ritz-Carlton with two eighteen-year-old Russian hookers. The video of Nicholson, Grabowski, and the Russian spy playing on a huge TV in the background. Popping champagne bottles, smoking cigars, watching the two girls feast on each other’s sweet honeydew, hardly touched pussies. He was especially looking forward to the part of the evening that would involve them fisting and then pegging him with the huge dildos—12”, one black, one white—that he had recently ordered. He had never taken more than a few fingers into his tight lawman ass. He’d been fantasizing for years, maybe his whole life, about taking something more substantial up his hole. Tonight was the night! He reached down and squeezed his slowly hardening cock. No Viagra. He couldn’t stand that stuff. But he would definitely be strapping on his black silicone cock rings. Those were all he needed. Thank God for that!

  And thank God that he was one step closer, one giant step, to realizing his ultimate ambition and reaching the pinnacle of power: Director of the FBI.

  He leaned his head back and finished off the Scotch. That was enough for now. The evening was still young. And there was still a little bit of business to take care of before the night of debauchery began.

  Mackenzie blinked several times at the TV screen—tuned to CNN. Most of the screen was dark—except for a light beam, which appeared to be illuminating a moving train. Amtrak. The camera view was coming from a helicopter that was flying over the train.

 
; “What the hell?” Mackenzie said leaning forward. Then his eyes shifted to the banner at the bottom of the screen.

  HOSTAGE SITUATION ABOARD AMTRAK TRAIN

  “What the FUCK!” Mackenzie leaped out of the chair, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume.

  “GOOD EVENING, FOLKS. Don Citrus, here reporting. What you're seeing right now on your screens is live footage from the CNN Chopper. We have on ongoing hostage situation aboard Amtrak train 29, traveling from DC to Chicago.”

  Mackenzie’s mouth gaped open. He put a hand to his chest. He struggled to breathe.

  “Now we’re going to go live with CNN’s very own, Anderson Johnson, who is in the CNN Chopper. Anderson, ARE YOU THERE?”

  The silver-headed fox flashed his handsome face and then the camera went back to the hijacked train. “Yes, I”m here Don. Woah!!! What a wild ride this has been for the past thirty minutes.”

  “Anderson, thank you for being so brave. This is what putting your life on the line in the name of journalism really looks like.”

  “Thanks, Don! But what I want to bring to everyone’s attention is that there appear to be two people on top of the train. Several times they have held their hands in the air and we have seen the glint of badges. We suspect that they are some way affiliated with law enforcement.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes grew even wider as the camera continued to zoom onto the top of the train. He poured himself another glass of Scotch, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. As he raised the glass, the camera zoomed in tight on the faces of the two cowboys who had jumped on top of the train.

  “RATATTATATATATAT!!!!” Gunshots. Semi-automatic fire.

  The helicopter camera began turning upside down, over and over again. Then there was a loud crash. An even louder explosion. The camera went dark.

  The television announcer began screaming hysterically, “ANDERSON! ARE YOU OKAY? HAVE YOU BEEN HIT? ANDERSON!!! HELP!!!!”

  The glass fell from Mackenzie’s hand. He clutched at his chest. His mouth and eyes opened wide.

  Chapter 20

  Nicholson had a death grip on the steering wheel and his foot was pressed down hard on the metal. Light flashing sirens blaring, they raced on US-62 West, pushing damn near 140 mph. Thank God, he hadn't been drinking. If he had been there was no telling how many times he would have flipped over the cruiser.

  There were only 40 minutes away from the Alliance train station. For the past twenty minutes, Grabowski had been on the phone with Northeast Regional Amtrak CEO, Mahmoud Faroush. He was more than willing to cooperate with the Bureau. Not like Grabowski was giving him any other options.

  “One more thing,” Grabowski said. “When the announcement is made aboard the train, make sure that nothing is said about law enforcement needing to board the train. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Agent Grabaaa—oow—”

  “Grabowski!” She screamed into the phone. “You got a lot of nerve with a name like yours.”

  She hung up the phone and shook her head from side to side. She would have liked to kick that guy right in the balls.

  “Everything cool?” Nicholson asked, eyes still focused intensely on the hot black road in front of him.

  “Yeah. Tried to give me some BS about how they can’t stop the trains because of blah blah blah.”

  “But the train will be stopping at Alliance station, right?”

  “Yep! And if you would start driving like you had some balls we might just get there before the train does.”

  Nicholson grinned and shook his head. Then he turned towards her and smiled. “You’re really something,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  “Thanks, Nicholson. Wish I could say the same about you. Unfortunately, I’ve definitely encountered your type before.”

  “Wise ass,” Nicholson snickered, playfully.

  She smiled then reached out and rubbed his leg. His face lit up. And the cruiser already flying, zoomed even faster in route to the station. The determination on his face made her so damn wet. This was the man she wanted. This was the man that she could love and be loyal to!

  A few minutes later, they exited the highway and followed the GPS instructions, 2 1/2 miles to the station. Nicholson skidded into the parking lot. They both hopped out. Slammed the doors. Put their hands on their guns and raced towards the track. There was nobody on the platform. The place seemed eerily quiet. An electronic schedule board informed them that Amtrak train 29 Capitol Limited hadn’t yet arrived. Two minutes.

  They stared at each other, panting and sweating. Nicholson took his chin in her hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “I love you,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. She pushed her tongue into his and pulled his head down. They ground their hips into each other. Grabowski couldn’t resist. She grabbed the hard bulge in his pants. Then she buried her head in his neck, kissed his ear, nibbled on it, blew into it. “When we get out of this,” she said in a sultry voice. “We’re going to make—excuse mean, I mean fuck like wild animals. Just the two of us. In a hotel room. A weekend all to ourselves. What do you think?”

  Nicholson smiled and licked his lips. “I think I’m ready to go right now.” He looked down at her voracious hand. “Don’t you?”

  She squeezed the hard dick meat. “You’re definitely ready, officer. Definitely.”

  A loud sound rumbled in the distance. They separated and turned. A long train was coming slowly around a bend. It was definitely an Amtrak train. They held their pistols in and hand. Their badges swung from their necks. This was the moment they had been waiting for. They were finally going to bring these Russian bastards in. She couldn’t wait to get Sergei alone in a room and knock him upside the head a few times.

  “It’s moving really slowly,” Grabowski said. The train was within a hundred yards.

  “That’s a good thing,” Nicholson replied.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  The train came closer and closer. Adrenaline surged through Grabowski's his body.

  As the train pulled into the station, held their badges in their air and waved them toward the engineer’s compartment—the head of the train.

  The head of the train was less than ten feet away. For some reason, the train wasn’t slowing down. It continued its leisure pace. As the train engineer’s room passed them, then began banging on the glass, trying to get someone’s attention, screaming, “FBI! FBI! Stop this train! Now!”

  But it wasn’t stopping. And no one in the engineer’s room responded. Nicholson hesitated, not sure what to do next. In a few moments, the train would have passed completely through the station.

  Suddenly the window in the front car lowered. Before Nicholson had time to say anything, a gun barrel appeared through the open window.

  POW!POW!POW!

  He jumped on top of Grabowski as the bullets whizzed past them, breaking glass and ricocheting off brick.

  “Goddamnit,” Grabowski cursed. “Did you have to slam me to the ground like that?”

  Nicholson smiled and shook his head. “I thought that maybe—”

  “POW! POW!”

  A few more shots rang out above their heads.

  Nicholson wasn’t going to let the train leave the station. They had to get on it, somehow, someway.

  He rose from the concrete, pistol in hand, ready to start firing. “C’mon. Let’s go!” He yelled at Grabowski reaching out for her hand.

  She stared up at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

  “Now!”

  Chapter 21

  Sergei’s head was spinning. His temples were pounding. People were yelling and screaming on the train. Several passengers were attending to the man who had been shot by one of the Russian goons. This was already a bad situation. Shooting that innocent civilian, who would probably bleed to death if he didn’t soon receive emergency medical care, had only made things worse. Every type of law enforcement would be gunning for them now. And of course, they wouldn’t make a distincti
on between him and the people who were holding him hostage. One dead Russian operative was as good as another. Their bullets wouldn’t spare him. If he was going to find a way out of this death trap, he would have to do it on his own.

  This was do or die. Point of no return. She shoved the gun barrel into his ribs. He winced. That was a menacing, homicidal look in her eyes. He knew that she wasn't afraid to pull the trigger.

  The two dapper thugs, who both stood over six foot five and weighed around 260 pounds of granite steel, did their best to intimidate the entire train car into silence and submission. But every now and then, from somewhere in the train car, as if compelled by some sort of ancestral death urge, some primal desire to take on the dragon, someone would begin yelling at the captors, cursing them, challenging them, taunting them. Whenever those bursts of reckless, rebellion occurred a group of passengers would rush towards and swiftly muzzle the offender.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Shut up!”

  “You’re going to get us all killed!”

  And on and on it went, chaos. Human beings untethered, hoping, praying that these wouldn’t be their last moments, hoping, praying that they wouldn't be the next one writhing on the floor, slowly but surely bleeding to death.

  From the chatter in Russian between Irina—that was name that she had given him—and the two men it became clear to Sergei that they were expecting to be picked up by helicopter.

  “Helicopter?” He couldn’t help saying out loud.

  Irina’s eyes flashed towards him. One of the guys rushed towards him, pistol pointing straight at his forehead. He shivered. The gun was going to go off at any minute. This would be it. His brains would be splattered on the glass. “What did you say?” The brute growled in his face.

  Sergei’s eyes shot open with fear. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He swallowed, tried to move some saliva around in his mouth. He legs wobbled beneath him. “I was just saying—”