I glanced at my watch again. 4:25 PM. Show time! Staying low I got the RPG-8 rocket launcher out of the duffle bag. It fires rocket propelled grenades - as you can tell from its name. I had the modified version, the XA7. It fires thermobaric grenades. Thermobaric munitions are designed to suck in the oxygen in the air to generate a more extensive, higher temperature explosion. Much more. It’s extremely combustive with the added advantage that, well, all flesh burns. I loaded in one of the TPG6 rounds and activated the weapon. I poked my head above the railing, ever so carefully, so I could see what was going on. It was now 4:30 PM exactly. Someone was speaking. They'd started right on time, which was surprising. A podium had been set up at the front and middle of a small temporary stage. There were several individuals at the podium wearing suits - just politicians, worthless bastards, and completely expendable. There were ten guards also, on and around the stage, including Barry Robertson. I felt bad about the other guards. Protective services. Cops strictly speaking. But my earlier reservations were quickly discarded. They'd taken the job. They knew the risks. One of the politicians was introducing the other one to the assembled crowd. Not really a crowd but a respectable gathering at least, clapping politely enough when the first speaker finished his introduction. I couldn’t really make out what they were saying. Didn’t know who they were. Didn't matter. My attention was focused on the cocksucker. Right up there near the podium just a couple of meters behind the dignitaries he was supposedly there to protect. He looked pompous and self-satisfied. Not for much fucking longer. The rest of his fucking life was measured in seconds.
I got up on my knees, solidly braced myself in position, and held the RPG-8 on my shoulder loosely but firmly - as instructed so many years back. Different models, same basic method. I had a clear view of the whole of the Square. I took aim through the sights - locking onto the floor at Robertson’s feet. I fired. It was quite satisfying and captivating watching the rocket burst into life and blaze across the street, plummeting down into the stage full of ferocity and wicked intent. As the first one exploded I fired another one, and then one more. Sharp cracking roaring sounds echoed across the street. I looked down at the stage, surveying the carnage. Bodies everywhere. A dozen or more. Blackened. Charred. Some of them still burning. Thermobaric! Fuckin A!
I left the RPG-8 and the duffle bag where it was, as recommended by Charlie. People would remember anyone running from the scene carrying a large bag. And I'd used all my rounds anyway. I calmly walked across the roof, down the stairs onto the twentieth floor and then down in the elevator to the ground floor. There was some commotion in the lobby. But no-one yet knew what had happened. I walked across the lobby and exited the building. Nobody seemed to even notice me. I went into the multi-level garage next door, calmly paid for and validated my ticket using the automatic machine, got back to my car and then drove out down the exit ramp into Russel Street. There were several police cars, sirens screaming, speeding down the other side of the street, and around the corner into Flinders Street. That was quick! There would be many, many more. All of them in fact. But they hadn’t yet blocked off any streets. Too slow! So sad! Too bad!
I drove through the city streets making my way back to the hotel. When I got there, I drove down into my parking spot in the basement. I left all my newly acquired weapons in the boot of the car - except one of the Glocks and the Uzi which I would keep on me from now on. Why not keep the rest in the boot? They were never going to catch me. I was feeling quite elated. What a fucking rush. Man! I went up to my room on the seventh floor and straight back into the loving arms of the soft, sweet and gorgeous Natasha Brown. We immediately started making out. I wished we had buckets of soft warm honey. We could have poured it all over our nude bodies and just rolled around endlessly, kissing and caressing. Which we did, stroking and probing, moving through endless variations of form and technique for hours on end - but without the honey. Natasha had studied the Kama Sutra and was renewing her interest in it over the last few days. She showed me a few things I'd never seen before, or even imagined. Holy fuck. Well ... literally.
I didn't find out until later, watching the late-night news, that I'd just killed Harry Smith, the Premier of Victoria, and Walter Glendale, the US Ambassador to Australia. Whoops! Of course, they never bother giving out the names of the security personnel that were also killed. Ten of them in all. But I knew that one of them was Barry Robertson, my former parole officer. The cocksucker. Strike one more off the list. I couldn’t begin to imagine the shit storm this was going to provoke. But never in a million years would they guess that Barry was the actual target. This would work to my advantage. They'd never connect me to the attack and come looking for me. It would be attributed to terrorism. ISIS. Fanatical Muslims. Maybe even the bat-shit crazy North Koreans. The fucking politicians would be short stroking it through the next dozen elections. I was completely in the clear on this one. Couldn’t have done it better if I’d planned it deliberately.
------------------------------------------------
An hour or so later, just after midnight - in Canberra, 650 Km to the north-east of Melbourne, in the American Embassy in Moonah Place - the U.S Deputy Ambassador, Michael Williams, was on the phone with the U.S President. It was 8:00 AM on the US East coast. Williams was listening carefully. The president was not in a good mood. He was speaking gruffly,
"Do we know who did this?"
Williams replied,
"We've got a name Sir. And we don’t think it was terrorism."
The president asked,
"Why not?"
Williams answered,
"We've been following some local chatter, matching it up with satellite surveillance. We think the Russian mob is involved, Dmitri Alexandrovistch, but it was done by a local, we're still not sure why."
The president responded with anger,
"I never talked to the Russians."
Williams didn’t dare even roll his eyes.
"Of course not sir. But we think they're after him."
The president calmed down a bit.
"Well, whoever is involved. Bad people. Bad. Bad people."
Williams agreed quickly,
"Yes sir, of course sir."
The president spoke in a lower voice,
"Walter was a good friend of mine, a very good friend, very good. I know you'll do whatever it takes to make this right."
Williams responded instantly,
"Of course sir. You can count on that."
The president said,
"I know you will Mike, I know you will. And it'll be excellent. Best ever."
Then he disconnected.
Michael Williams went quickly downstairs to the office of Chuck Miller, the CIA station chief. Chuck looked up, clearly expecting him. Williams didn’t bother taking a seat. He checked to see no-one else was around and then spoke,
"The president is taking a personal interest in this. Ambassador Glendale was a good friend of his."
Chuck knew that of course, he waited patiently. Williams continued,
"The president wants the matter dealt with firmly."
Chuck looked up again when Williams said this, but he wasn’t that surprised. He replied simply,
"Yes Sir."
Williams raced out of the office, back upstairs. Obviously on this awful night he and everyone else was frantically busy. They would be working around the clock.
Chuck Miller strolled purposefully down the corridor and made his way into the secure area. The aussies were good allies but in this game you didn't really trust anyone - not even your own people. He walked through the crowded offices - buzzing with activity - into the communications area. The comms officer Chad Watson looked up at him as he entered, as did the Operations Officer Mathew Donaldson. Chuck got straight to the point, speaking to both of them,
"We have an implied presidential directive."
He didn’t need to elaborate on what. There was only one topic here tonight. They both replied,
"Y
es Sir."
Chuck asked Donaldson,
"Do we still have a 95% confirmation on the identity of the shooter, Brian Samuals?"
Donaldson replied,
"Yes Sir. 100% now."
Chuck Miller grunted and then continued speaking, more rapidly.
"OK then. Find the asshole, and blow his fucking ass off the face of the fucking planet. And I don’t give a shit about any level of collateral damage. Get whatever you need. Just get it done."
They replied together,
"Yes Sir."
Chuck Miller turned and walked out. He would be busy too. He would liaise with local military authorities, via the Pentagon, using some of the joint force agreements, to get direct control of some local military assets. Under the circumstances he was sure the chicken shit Australian Prime Minister would bend over backwards to give him anything he asked for.
Chad Watson put in a call to Langley on the secure video link. He spoke to his counterpart, comms officer Brad Cayley. Cayley knew instantly what it was about. Chad said,
"We're going to need a special team down here. And some drones."
There were one or two technical questions from Cayley, which Chad answered. Cayley then raised his left eyebrow, with the obvious question implied. Chad replied,
"Yeah. It’s another code three."
Chapter 9. Dial a Lesbian.
Svetlana Araknilova arrived at Tullamarine Airport on the outskirts of Melbourne at 4:00 PM on Friday afternoon. It had been a long flight from Moscow, with a brief stopover at Tokyo. She hadn't managed to get much sleep. A couple of rowdy kids in the seat in front of her didn't help. Couldn't just kill them though, unfortunately. She made her way through Customs and Immigration without incident. When the immigration officer at the desk asked her,
"What is the purpose of your visit to Australia?"
She replied with a smile,
"Tourist."
He smiled back,
"Very well then Ms. Martinova. I hope you enjoy your stay here."
And then he stamped her passport. She replied,
"Oh. I will. Thank you."
Then she walked off. She made her way through the airport concourse, down the escalators to baggage collection. People everywhere. The one thing that made her a bit uncomfortable was her lack of weapons. She felt almost naked without them, accustomed as she was to have several firearms and one or two knives hidden on her person at all times, all of them within easy and instant reach. She took another long look at the people around her. Nah. Most of these weaklings she could kill with her bare hands practically before they'd be able to blink. No immediate threat here. She still felt uncomfortable.
She got a cab after a short wait and asked to be taken to an address in Coburg - Holden Street. She arrived there just before 5:00 PM. This is where she would be meeting Jack Williams. It was an ordinary looking suburban house. White. Fairly small. Nestled tightly amongst a row of other houses, all very similar. She knew that this was where he conducted his more personal business when not in the office. He was now a Detective Chief Inspector in the Victorian Police Force, second in command of the Organized Crime Division. He'd been working for Dmitri Alexandrovistch secretly for years. Making a lot of money. She knew that Dmitri had facilitated his advancement in many ways. Most recently by having one of the other contenders for his current position killed while holidaying in Italy. She knew there was a hit out on his immediate superior as well. She’d been offered the job but had been too busy to take it on. And now all this.
She walked to the front door and knocked loudly, several times. The door opened and a man stood there before her. She asked,
"Jack Williams?"
He looked her up and down. A little too much, for a little too long. He looked sleazy. Thin hair, beady eyes, mid-forties, short, about five-seven, not fat but with the beginnings of a paunch. He looked a bit like a ferret. He replied smoothly enough,
"Yes. Are you Svetlana?"
She nodded. He opened the door and made way for her, motioning her to please come in. Which she did.
She went through a short hallway into the living room. It was an ordinary room. A couch and a chair, facing a TV. Another chair across the other side of the room. Large window, faded blue curtains, drawn tight. Fading greyish carpet. But there they were, on a coffee table, in the middle of the room. Her weapons! She went to them eagerly. It was almost a Christmas morning moment. Her Nagant M1895 revolver with a few boxes of ammunition, a Beretta with six clips, a Becker combat knife and another plainer one just as backup. All with shoulder holsters and strap on leather scabbards. All exactly as per her specifications. Williams had acquired the other weapons locally but the Nagant revolver had come in on an earlier flight, as freight. She didn’t know exactly how Williams managed to get it all cleared. But he had. That was part of his job. She took her time, loading and checking the revolver, and then the Beretta pistol. Putting them in their holsters and strapping the holsters on, the Nagant on the left, the Berretta on the right. The knife scabbards were secured in place - one at the hip, one down the side of her right leg. She inserted the knives. Then she signed deeply. Ah! Now she felt much better.
Williams had watched all of this with bemused interest. She could easily see that the little turd was packing. One under the shoulder, another at the waist. She'd heard some sounds from the next room. She knew they were not alone in the house. No doubt he had at least a few men nearby. She had a reputation. He would know that. She could also easily see that the fucking little ferret was checking her out. Looking her up and down. Imagining her naked. Sleazebag!
Williams took a seat on the chair in the far corner. Svetlana sat opposite him in the couch. He said to her,
"Well, Svetlana, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please convey my greetings to our mutual employer. Now, what can I do for you?"
Svetlana scowled. She decided to ignore the overly familiar use of her first name. After all she was going to kill him once this was all done. And Dimitri had specified, 'Something really nasty'. She was already looking forward to it. But that was for later. Right now, she needed intel. She asked quietly,
"Tell me everything you know about Brian Samuals and Natasha Brown. And how you know. How did you identify them so quickly?"
Williams selected a video on his phone and handed the phone to her. As he did so he informed her,
"This is the video I sent Mr. Alexandrovistch. It was taken at the club. Some hidden surveillance."
She watched Boris, Vadim and Constantine escorting Natasha from the room. She watched Brian intervene. And then abruptly disarm, shoot and kill Constantine. That was smoothly done. She would be careful with him when the time came. She watched Brian and Natasha exit from the room. Finally, she watched Boris and Vadim staring at the body for some time and then also abruptly exit before anyone could attempt to detain them. She thought to herself. Incompetent assholes. She was going to enjoy killing them, especially Vadim. Yeah. She'd take her time with that one. He'd probably enjoy it ... at first. As for Constantine, she'd always thought he was a useless little prick. Didn’t deserve to die for it though. More to the point Dmitri didn’t want him to die - and was devastated. She looked up at Williams and asked,
"Has anyone else got this video?"
Williams replied,
"Yes. Unfortunately. I only got it through channels. It was shown to me in the office. I was working late. Got an alert."
She asked,
"So, they know who he is?"
Williams smirked.
"No. I neglected to let them in on that. But Brian and I used to be partners. I recognized him instantly. Kept it to myself. They'll work it out eventually though. If they question me on it I'll just say I didn’t recognize him, it’s been years since I've seen him. Who would ever have thought it would be him. Yada. Yada. They haven’t identified the two Russians yet either. I assume you know who they are. But it’s only a matter of time. Of course, they know all about the girl and the hacker who was
killed."
Svetlana thought about all of this for a few moments. Then she asked,
"What do you know about Samuals? And where are they all now?"
Williams shrugged.
"Brian was in the army for thirteen years, straight out of school. Did some time in Iraq, and Afghanistan, saw some combat. He was a sergeant in the infantry. When he got out he joined the police force. Another ten years. By the end of that we were detectives together in the Fraud and Extortion Squad. He diddled the books. Stole two million dollars. Well, actually, I did. But he did the time for it. I don’t imagine I'm his favorite person. He'd have to have figured out by now that it was me. When he got out, he had to stay in Melbourne for a year on parole. But he moved to Sydney as soon as he could. Tried to get back together with his wife Beatrice and his daughter Laetitia. She'd divorced him while he was inside. They wouldn't have anything to do with him. I think he went bankrupt too, certainly flat broke. He got some shit job somewhere. Drinks a lot. All fucked up. Should have been more careful who he trusted."
He made the last statement with a sly slightly manic grin. Svetlana was repulsed, but said nothing. She'd get to Williams soon enough. She asked,
"So why did he rescue the stripper?"
Williams shrugged.
"Brian always had an eye for a pretty girl. A damsel in distress. And they all love him. I never could figure out why. He's probably shacked up with her right now, fucking her brains out."
Svetlana thought about this, with some displeasure evident. Then she asked,
101 People to Kill Before I Die Page 8
