by Gary Ponzo
Nick crept down the dirt path; a deep musty aroma forced him to breathe through his mouth. He followed the President’s voice taking careful steps, heel to toe, his gun out in front of him.
Stiff-legged and panting from pain, Nick saw the tunnel split in two. The radio broadcast was coming from the left tunnel, the same direction Benton had told him to take. He inched his way down the dirt shaft until he saw an opening on his left. It appeared to be an intersecting tunnel, but as he got closer, the President’s voice seemed to amplify. The opening was more illuminated than the other parts of the tunnel and as Nick approached, he understood why. The opening was a room of sorts. A small cave with no outlet.
Nick suddenly felt claustrophobic. There was no turning back now, though. He either found Barzani and stopped the terrorist from detonating a bomb, or he became another casualty of the KSF’s pronounced death sentence.
The President was getting ready to announce his support for Turkey. He was glorifying past alliances with the Turkish people and offering his sympathy for the turmoil the Turks had to endure. It was only a matter of moments before Merrick would declare his unequivocal endorsement of the UN peacekeeping troops in Kurdistan, leaving Barzani no doubt that his threat had fallen short of its target.
It had been so long since Nick cleared a room by himself, he felt naked. He and Matt had such a system down, such a smooth rhythm of checks and balances. Now he was forced make a charge and gamble. The clock was ticking.
He leaned back against the wall and took a long breath. His heart pumped so loud it made his eardrums throb. In one swift move he turned into the opening and swept his gun across his field of vision, left to right, by the book, his gun lined up directly with his view.
The cave was empty. Nick exhaled. The room looked to be ten by ten and contained a wooden bench against the far wall. In front of the bench was a short, folding table, like something the kids would sit around for an outdoor party. On the table was a black portable radio with a single antenna sticking all the way up. The President had just given his word that America would never be intimidated by terrorist threats, nor would he ever negotiate with people who didn’t respect America’s freedoms.
Next to the radio was an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Nick didn’t need to examine them to know which kind they were. The smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered throughout the small confines. He’d trained himself to listen for anything he couldn’t see, but he never heard his attacker plow into him from behind and smash him against the cave wall. His gun flew loose from the impact and he found himself on the floor in severe agony. His shoulder had taken the brunt of the collision and he couldn’t help but clutch the tender joint.
A tall man with a Mediterranean complexion and a weathered face picked up Nick’s gun and sat on the wooden bench. He held up a pair of hiking boots, then dropped them to the floor to put them back on his stocking feet. There was no doubt in Nick’s mind who was sitting in front of him.
“I have done a lot of research on you in preparation for this moment,” Anton Kalinikov said with a Russian accent. “I am retiring after this job. My wife wants to live near a beach and I never disappoint my wife.”
Nick’s survival mode kicked in and he tried to get to his feet.
Kalinikov held up his hand. “Please do not act foolish, Agent Bracco.”
For some reason those words resonated with him. It was incredible how easily Nick seemed to accept his fate. There was no time to reminisce. The only thought imbedded in his mind was the image of Julie’s soft belly carrying the child he would never live to see.
The President’s speech was winding down. His tone seemed to contain resolve, a commodity which Nick was lacking at the moment. He wasn’t even sure he could get up without help, never mind mount a successful attack against a professional assassin.
Kalinikov leaned over and turned off the radio. “There’s too much hate in the world.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s why people like me exist, huh?” He pulled a pair of purple gloves from his pocket and began to stretch them on his hands.
“I tagged your vehicles with a GPS device as soon as I drove into town. I thought your technology person would have discovered them.” The Russian looked over at Nick with a mixture of confusion and pity. “You knew you were a target. Yet you were so blinded by the chase, you had forgotten to check your defense. That was a mistake.”
Kalinikov gestured toward Nick’s shoulder. “Your sutures have opened up.”
Nick felt the wound and came back with bloody fingers. His mouth had dried up. He’d wondered why his assassin hadn’t killed him yet, until Kalinikov produced a metal cylinder from his jeans pocket and began screwing it on the end of his pistol.
“In all this rush, I forgot to attach my silencer,” The Russian said. “I guess we all get hasty at times, right?”
With every twist of the silencer, Nick felt the blood drain from his head. He no longer cared about the pain. What he cared about was the end. He wanted it to come quickly and give his weary mind the relief it desperately craved.
From the tunnel came a pair of footsteps rushing toward the cave. Kalinikov didn’t seem to be affected by the sound. He continued attending to his gun. A few seconds later, Temir Barzani came rushing into the room in a cloud of dust. With his pistol out, he looked at the two men. First Nick slumped on the floor, then Kalinikov sitting on the bench, putting the finishing touches on his silencer.
To Kalinikov, Barzani said, “You?” He pointed to Nick and said, “Why is he still alive?”
That’s when Kalinikov raised his gun and shot Barzani with the quickest move Nick had ever seen. A chest shot. By the amount of blood seeping through the terrorist’s shirt, it was obviously a direct hit on his heart. Not a difficult shot from the distance, but effortless and professional and with just a muted pop. Barzani’s face held the shock all the way to the floor and it never left even after his life had expired.
Kalinikov moved quicker now, getting up and rummaging his hands through Barzani’s corpse. He seemed to be finessing something from Barzani’s pocket. Finally he came up with a narrow, metallic device and gave it a careful examination before placing it on the plastic table.
“That would be the detonator,” Kalinikov said. “There is no timer, so your people should be able to defuse it rather easily.”
The Russian must’ve seen the confused look on Nick’s face. He grinned. “Barzani offered me money to kill you.” He raised his eyebrows. “But the Turkish government offered me more money to kill him. A lot more.”
Nick didn’t move. His pulse pounded through his head like a steady drumbeat. He still anticipated one more shot to be fired.
“I put a tourniquet around your partner’s leg,” Kalinikov said, casually waving his pistol in the air. “If he gets to the hospital within the hour they should be able to save it.”
Nick studied the man's movements, waiting for a quick draw and the bullet which would put him down. He was certain the assassin was just playing with him. Enjoying the kill. He forced himself to sit upright. Take it with valor.
Kalinikov put away his gun and wiped the dirt from his pants. “You are good at your job, Agent Bracco. It’s the reason I followed you. I knew you would lead me directly to him.”
The Russian scanned the room one last time. His eyes settled on Nick. “I also know you well enough to know you have no intention of going after me. It is why you are still alive. Anyone who mingles with the type of organized criminals you do, does not care about anything but the results. Besides,” he looked over at Barzani’s body. “I am now retired.”
Nick watched Kalinikov leave the cave. His footsteps became softer with every passing moment.
“Oh, one more thing,” Kalinikov’s voice echoed throughout the tunnel walls. “Please thank your cousin for the drink. He was good company.”
It wasn’t until the maintenance door slammed shut that Nick realized he was going to survive. It took another five minutes for his breathing to sl
ow down enough for him to attempt to get to his feet. He pushed down on his good arm, then decided against it. Somehow sitting in a small cave with Temir Barzani’s decomposing corpse seemed like a satisfying place to spend a few minutes.
Chapter 30
President Merrick was back in his private office with a handful of his closest aides. The thin-screen TV on the wall was tuned to CNN and everyone had a beverage in their hand. It was the end of a long day and possibly the beginning of a long night.
Merrick sat at the end of the couch, legs crossed, reading the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The TV was almost always muted so the flow of conversation in the room wouldn’t be interrupted. Currently a commentator interviewed a Senator from Arizona who was concerned Merrick hadn’t given the KSF’s threat the respect it deserved.
“Idiot,” Merrick murmured. His left foot tapped the floor nervously while he kept glancing at the digital clock on the wall. Every minute that passed without the words ‘Breaking News’ showing up on the screen was a blessing.
He made eye contact with Fisk who stood holding a beer in his right hand and loosening his tie with his left. Fisk shook his head, letting Merrick know he hadn’t heard anything from the War Room.
Next to him, Vice President Hearns leaned over and said, “You did the right thing, John.”
Merrick nodded absently. “Tell me that after half of Arizona is underwater.”
His Press Secretary Fredrick Himes came over with his head buried in his computer tablet. “The polls are in and fifty-three percent of the population agreed with your decision. Thirty-one percent in Arizona.”
Merrick nodded. He was bombarded with statistics like that all day long and was practically immune to their relevance. He knew the poll taken tomorrow morning would be thirty points different, in either direction.
Now Fisk had a phone to his ear and nodded. “He’s right here,” Fisk said handing the phone to Merrick. He was beaming.
Merrick got up and took the phone. He instinctively walked away from the TV and sat on the corner of his desk.
“Yes,” Merrick said, expecting to hear someone from the War Room.
Instead, a voice with a distinct Turkish accent said, “Temir Barzani is dead.”
“Mr. Prime Minister?” Merrick asked.
“Yes.”
Merrick looked at the wall clock. “It’s past four in the morning over there.”
“You are quite right, Mr. President. But our alliance does not fade after working hours.”
Merrick saw Fisk on another phone call. He seemed engrossed in deep conversation. “We have no confirmation on our end Barzani is dead,” Merrick said. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have personally made certain of this. Barzani will no longer be a threat to America. I want to thank you for the speech tonight. It was gratifying to hear you offer so much support to our great nation.”
“Of course, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“We do not want to be the friend who gets the Christmas card in the mail,” Prime Minister Budarry said. “We want to be the friend who joins your holiday feast.”
Merrick smiled for the first time in days it seemed. “I’ll have a place setting reserved at our table for you.”
“Good night, Mr. President.”
“Good night, Mr. Prime Minister.”
Fisk saw Merrick put his phone down and walked over with a sly grin. “I just got off the phone with Nick Bracco.”
“And?”
“Apparently, while tracking Barzani, an assassin intervened and killed the terrorist for him.”
Merrick squinted. “An assassin?”
Fisk nodded. “A Russian assassin.”
“What?”
Fisk held up his hand. “Nick said he poses no threat to anyone.”
Merrick cocked his head. “How can he be so sure?”
“He said he’d put it all in his report.”
“And the bomb?”
“They have the detonator. Bomb squad is on their way. They’ll be no explosions tonight.”
“So who hired the assassin?”
Fisk looked down at the phone sitting on Merrick’s desk. Merrick followed his gaze.
“You scared the crap out of him,” Fisk said. “He went and did something rash. He was afraid you would use your speech to announce a troop withdrawal.”
Merrick slumped back on his desk. Fisk reached into a nearby cooler and came up with two bottles of beer. He handed one to his longtime friend.
They clinked bottles and both took long swallows. When Merrick came down with the beer he held out his fist and received a fist-bump from Fisk.
“Thanks,” Merrick said.
“Hey, of course.”
Merrick put his beer down on the desk and slapped Fisk on the side of his shoulder. “I’m going upstairs to hug my kid.”
Fisk smiled. “That’s exactly what I thought you’d do.”
Epilogue
10 months later
St. Thomas Church was a converted warehouse and one of the more popular churches in Payson, Arizona. While the outside lacked any real warmth with a corrugated steel roof, the inside had been renovated with thirty rows of brand new pews and padded kneelers.
Although the room was filled with flowers, the altar had a massive floral arrangement which had to be delivered in sections because of its girth. The card simply read, “Happy Baptism,” to a special boy, President Merrick.”
The fifty guests and family members crowded around Julie as she cradled little Thomas Bracco in her arms with a wide smile. He was wrapped in a soft white cloth and kicked his tiny legs in the air. Nick had his surgically repaired arm around Julie’s shoulder and beamed down at his son.
Father Al Greco stood next to a ceramic stand holding a bowl filled with Holy water and addressed the guests with his left hand held high. “We are here to proclaim this child into the church of our Lord, who lives and reigns with the Holy Spirit and will bring this child into the Kingdom of God.”
Father Al looked at Julie. “Who shall be the child’s sponsor?”
Tommy squeezed between Matt and Jennifer Steele and stood beside Julie with a look of great satisfaction. “That would be me, Father.”
The priest nodded. “Please take the child.”
Julie handed her boy to Tommy.
Father Al said, “As the Godparent of this child, do you accept responsibility for raising him and helping him through his travels on this earth?”
“I do,” Tommy said, smiling down at his Godson.
The priest guided Tommy to hold the child’s head over the basin. Father Al dipped the metal bowl in the basin and gently poured Holy water over the baby’s forehead.
“I baptize thee, Thomas Luke Bracco, in the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
A flurry of cameras and phones clicked as pictures recorded the ceremony.
Nick felt tears threaten to trickle out. He clutched Julie tighter than he’d ever held her before. She whirled around to face him. For a brief moment there was pure ecstasy on her face. He wanted desperately to keep it there for as long as possible. But the report he had folded in his pocket screamed for his attention. He kissed her forehead.
Tommy turned and showed off his new Godson as the guests surrounded the two of them, gawking and smiling and taking pictures from every angle.
Nick made eye contact with Matt and saw him sit down in a nearby pew. He let Julie loose to mingle and slid into the pew next to his partner.
“Are you going to tell her?” Matt asked, staring at Julie, who was glowing.
“Eventually,” Nick said, leaning over with his elbows on his knees.
As Tommy walked down the aisle, Jennifer Steele put her arm around him and smacked his cheek with a kiss. In a mischievous tone she said, “Godfather.”
Tommy grinned. “How about that.”
Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank for this book, forgive me if I miss
a few. First and last, my family—Jennifer, Jessica and Kyle, without their love I'm not me. My mom for her unrelenting support for my writing. Robert Brown for having the foresight and wisdom to send me down this path. J.A. Konrath for opening up the books and allowing us to see behind the curtain.
A special thanks goes to my beta readers, Jim Ganem, Donald Sprague, Janet Ischy, Bob Moats and Clement Singarajah.
John Locke for his friendship and heavyweight support.
Michael McShane for his guidance and listening to all of my crazy ideas without snickering.
My former and current writing critique group, who've helped me develop my skills, Val Neiman, Wanda McLaughlin, Cindy Goyette, Debra White, Judith L. Pearson, Dave Benneman, Amber Kallyn, Jim Williams, Gabrielle Ruff, Shannon Zweig and Kyle Townsend.
I also want to thank the many readers who've supported me and my work. I appreciate all of your kind words and strive to make every page worthy of your attention.
A Touch of Revenge
Copyright 2011 Gary Ponzo
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, used, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Gary Ponzo.
