by Steve Richer
Rogan decided to give sleep another chance when he heard the distinctive sound of a switchblade. He opened his eyes just in time to see the blade slashing down toward his throat.
Chapter 12
Shiloh Kappas strode confidently through the Akorda Presidential Palace. With her flowing red dress, tight around her waist to highlight her best features, everybody was staring at her. They were especially gazing at her long legs through the parallel slits on each side of the fabric.
The building looked like Russian architecture from afar, something right out of tsarist St. Petersburg, so ornate and grand. But the official workplace of the President of Kazakhstan was in fact brand-new, having opened in 2004. Beyond the gold and marble which was seemingly everywhere, it was state-of-the-art.
While few people were aware of it, Kazakhstan was a wealthy nation, thanks to the oil and gas industry. As such, they were taking security very seriously and Shiloh hadn’t even dared thinking about bringing a weapon along with her. Besides, she didn’t need one.
She grinned as she stared back at the gawking government workers. More often than not, her looks was her weapon. It was incredible how easily people could be manipulated simply by bending in a certain manner.
She made her way to the second floor, not for a moment self-conscious about her heels clanging deafeningly against the polished marble. She was the only one in control. She went around the circular balustrade, suppressing an impressed nod at how majestic the palace looked, and headed down a corridor.
Employees were milling about, coming and going from a series of offices, and again they were ogling the stranger coming their way. This time she didn’t glance back. Her objective was clear, the office at the end of the hallway with the gilded doors.
As she came closer, the secretary behind the desk interjected her.
“Excuse me, do you have an appointment?”
“The President is always expecting me,” Shiloh replied in flawless Russian coupled with a cold smile.
Without breaking her stride, she continued ahead and opened both doors. She did so hard enough so that they would bounce and close behind her.
“Hey! You can’t go in there!”
Shiloh paid her no mind and went into the expansive office. As expected, the doors shut with a bang that startled the President of Kazakhstan who was writing at his desk.
“What is this?”
“Good afternoon, Rinat. You’ve been a naughty boy.”
The diminutive man looked left and right, searching for assistance. But he was alone aside from the spectacular view of the Esil River from the tall windows. He stood up and backed away nervously from his desk as if it was poisoned. Outside the office, the secretary was screaming for security.
“I don’t need to tell you who I am and who I work for, do I?”
She loved the way her voice sounded when she spoke Russian. It made her even sexier. For effect, she walked slowly toward him, making sure that he got a long look at her legs.
“I was told I would have more time!”
“And I was told you were a reasonable man, Rinat.”
Right then, the doors came flying open and two men in grey suits rushed inside, guns drawn.
“Stop! Hands up!”
“Oh please,” she cooed. “This is just childish.”
The guards came closer, evidently intent on escorting her out. Shiloh grinned and cocked her head. This could be fun after all.
The moment the first guard was within reach, she pounced. Her hand went up to push the gun aside and in chorus she hooked her ankle behind his leg, sweeping the man off his feet. She kneeled on him so he would stay down.
Before he had even hit the ground, Shiloh was in possession of his Walther pistol and directing it at the second bodyguard.
“Now be a good boy and put that toy away, please. I’m a guest of His Excellency. Tell him, Rinat Ivanovich.”
“Yes, yes! She’s a friend. Leave us, leave us!”
The bodyguards were not convinced. The one still aiming at Shiloh hazarded a glance at the head of state.
“Are you certain, Mr. President?”
“Yes, yes! I had forgotten we had an appointment. Leave us alone now.”
To make sure they would obey, Shiloh straightened up and lowered the weapon. She handed it back to the man she had defeated and he took it, still unable to hide his confusion.
The President nodded to them again and this time they left, closing the door behind them.
“They’re so well trained, you must be proud.”
“What do you want?” the short man asked as he smoothed down his jacket to cover his annoyance and jumpiness.
“I want many things, most of them don’t even have to be encrusted with diamonds. For instance, I want to not have to tell your wife about the seven prostitutes who stayed the night in your suite when you were in Dubai.”
“Ohooiet.” He blanched as he swore under his breath.
Shiloh loved having this effect on people. She came even closer to him but made sure to keep the desk between them.
“I also don’t want to do what I’ve been told to do to you if you don’t sign Bill 736 into law. Do you understand me?”
“Y-Yes.”
“You have agreed to sign Bill 736 into law by the end of January. What month is it, Rinat?”
“February.”
“That’s right, February! Good boy. And do you think February was part of the agreement?”
“No but…”
“Exactly, no.”
The man was angry but powerless. “I have files on you people, I know who you are!”
“Rinat, please don’t be juvenile.”
“You don’t understand, I…”
Shiloh’s phone buzzed and she made him go quiet with a single finger pointed his way. He obeyed and sat down in his massive chair. She dug into her clutch purse and produced her phone.
The call came from Dispatch.
She pressed her thumb against the screen and her print not only answered the call but made the line secure.
“I’m kind of busy right now,” she said in not-quite-posh British-accented English.
“We have an alert,” said the neutral voice on the other end. “Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol has been invoked.”
This shook her to her core. She hadn’t felt anything like this in years.
“Understood. I’m on my way.”
She turned off the phone and put it back into the purse. Her head snapped up toward the President of Kazakhstan and she reminded herself to switch back to Russian.
“The bill becomes a law before next Monday. I don’t care what you have to do, Rinat, but if I have to come back it will take far more than two bodyguards to stop me. Do you understand?”
He nodded curtly.
“Excellent,” she said with the bright smile of a movie star.
She spun on her heels and walked out of the office. There was no time to waste, she had to fly to America.
Chapter 13
The blade gleamed from the sunshine coming through the window.
“What…”
But it was all Rogan could say before his instincts kicked in. He moved his head aside and parried the arm holding the knife.
The blade cut through the leather of the headrest but it wasn’t deep enough for the knife to get jammed.
Rogan glanced at the assassin. He had removed his coat and tie, his sleeves were rolled up. He’d been prepared, unlike the FBI agent who was encumbered by his jacket. Still, his life depended on his reflexes.
While using his left forearm to keep the attacker at bay for another slash, Rogan punched him in the chest with his right fist. The killer stumbled back. It wasn’t much but it gave Rogan just enough time to unsnap his seatbelt because if he remained sitting down he would be dead.
Just as he rose, the killer charged. Rogan turned and blocked the incoming blade again but this time the would-be assassin saw it coming. He delivered a blow to Rogan’s face, sendi
ng him staggering back against the fuselage.
“Who are you?”
The man wasn’t in an answering mood and lurched forward to finish the job. This time, Rogan kicked him in the chest. It was hard, animalistic, and the killer didn’t see it coming. He lost his balance and it was his turn to be thrown back against the hull.
Rogan mechanically went for his gun only to discover security had stripped it away from him.
“Help!” he screamed, hoping one of the pilots would come to his rescue.
He kept an eye on the cockpit door but there was no sign anyone was coming. They were most likely in on it.
The killer was back on his feet and for moment the two men were immobile, sizing each other up. They looked like two wrestlers about to brawl. It wasn’t as easy as the hitman had imagined and this gave Rogan some confidence.
“Who sent you?”
The killer didn’t say anything. He flipped his knife so he was holding it overhand. This was disconcerting, it meant he had professional training. Another problem was that the cabin wasn’t high enough for them to be standing upright.
“You know you’re getting arrested for this, right? But we also know that you won’t let yourself be arrested. I’m gonna have to kill you. It’s not something I recommend, it tends to put a dent in your day.”
When the guy still didn’t move, Rogan decided to be bold and went about removing his jacket, anything to give himself a chance to survive.
But as soon as he had one arm out, the killer rushed ahead. Rogan might as well have been wearing a straitjacket.
He rolled sideways and simultaneously rammed into the killer to get him off balance. He was terrified of the man’s icepick grip which was incredibly deadly when performed by a skilled knife fighter. He kept his gaze locked on the assassin’s hand, making sure it never got too close to him.
The killer made a downward stabbing motion and Rogan swiftly jumped out of the way and finished removing his jacket. But he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the punch that came at his face and made him drop the jacket, a shame since it could have been a great makeshift weapon. There was a deaf thud as a fist cracked against his jaw.
“Ugh!”
Rogan tasted blood and used his entire body to push back against the assailant. He had so much adrenaline coursing through his veins that the two of them fell to the floor. With Rogan on top of him, this was the opportunity he had been waiting for.
He put both hands on the killer’s wrist, attempting to pin it to the ground, but the other man would have none of it. Not only was he fighting back but he used his free hand to choke the FBI agent.
Caught off guard, Rogan lost his breath and in the process his hold on the knife-wielding arm. The assassin slashed up and it was all Rogan could do to avoid his throat being cut open.
“Ah!”
He recoiled but at last he saw this was an opportunity. As the arm continued to the other side on its momentum, Rogan leaped on him again and punched his wrist with all the strength he could muster.
The guy’s hand was trapped between the fist and the nearest seat. The impact was so abrupt that he lost his grip on the switchblade. Rogan smiled with surprise but there was no time to sit on his laurels.
“Who the fuck are you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer and dodged the incoming blow. He retaliated with a knee to his groin.
“Umph!”
It took the killer’s breath away. But he was a professional and quickly recovered, doing his best to push Rogan off.
Yet Rogan held on. It was a tightly fought battle, the two men rolling around in the narrow aisle. Punches were traded liberally and a trickle of blood escaped from the corner of the FBI agent’s lips. It hurt and it allowed the killer to gain the upper hand, getting on top of him.
Rapidly becoming breathless, his adrenaline wearing off, Rogan had to do something otherwise he was dead. And then he saw it.
A seatbelt was dangling off the cushy chair to his right!
He struck the assassin in the face and it gave him the split second he needed to reach for the heavy nylon strap. With Herculean effort, he pushed the man toward this seat and wrapped the seatbelt around his neck, in the process getting behind him.
“Tell me who you are! Why are you doing this?”
Even though he was getting choked, there was no sign that he intended to respond. Rogan decided to keep squeezing until he passed out. After that, he’d have all the latitude necessary to properly interrogate him.
Only the murderer wasn’t going down without a fight. His legs were kicking, anything to get leverage to push Rogan away, and his hands were clawing aimlessly behind his head.
Rogan had him, he was sure of it. He was even considering easing off the pressure to let the man live. However, the two of them spotted the knife lying on the floor.
Fuck.
The assassin now had a well-defined goal and he stretched toward the knife. He touched it with his fingers and he managed to make it roll closer to him. If he ever succeeded in getting a hold of it, Rogan was dead. He knew it.
Just a little more, the killer struggled to bring the weapon closer. All the while, Rogan kept his eyes on the knife, gauging its distance.
Right then, the stranger made a last-ditch effort and curled his fingers around the knife handle. That was it, it was do or die!
“No…”
Rogan pulled harder on the seatbelt and at the same time pushed the guy’s head back at an angle. With a swift jerk, he broke his neck.
“Don’t move!”
The FBI agent looked up and saw that the pilot was standing out of the cockpit, aiming a gun at him.
Chapter 14
Rogan had thought that the worst was over. With the assassin out of commission, all he had to do was talk the pilots into landing so they could sort things out. But these fuckers were in on it.
“Let go of him,” the pilot said. “Stand up.”
Now he understood. He was here to finish the job and it was one less incentive for Rogan to let go of the corpse. It was his only protection.
“Why do you want me dead?”
“Because I have been paid handsomely to do it. Let go of him and stand up.”
Instead, Rogan snuggled closer to the body as his eyes fell to the knife.
“Don’t be an idiot, mister.”
Being an idiot was the only way to survive. If the man had been paid to kill him then there would be no talking him out of it. Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and took the knife from the killer’s limp hand.
“Non!” the Frenchman screamed.
He squeezed the trigger and Rogan felt the impact as the bullet hit the corpse in the chest. He instinctively made himself smaller, hiding behind it. He hoped that the pilot wouldn’t figure out that his left leg was exposed.
He fired again, this time hitting the dead assassin in the face. A spray of blood gushed out directly at Rogan and the head was thrown back, striking him in the forehead. It hurt like a son of a bitch.
However, this cemented his decision to do the craziest thing imaginable.
He flipped the knife around in his hand and without waiting another second he threw it at the man standing 10 feet away.
The blade missed the pilot but it did nick the side of his throat.
“Aaahh!”
From the shock, he twisted his body and impulsively pulled the trigger. Rogan was relieved he was no longer aiming at him and he was already on his feet to tackle the pilot. Except there was something much more worrying.
The lost bullet punctured a window!
The small hole expanded at once and the entire pane of glass disappeared. The cabin was depressurized instantly and the copilot still at the commands reacted by pitching down so they wouldn’t run out of oxygen.
Rogan had never been this scared before. Armed men he could handle but there was nothing he could do against a crashing jet.
He held on against a seat while the oxygen masks fell from the cei
ling. The pilot had trouble staying on his feet as well and he was holding the small gash on his neck.
The depressurization wasn’t as awful as in the movies with the fuselage breaking apart, seats being ripped from the floor. But everything that wasn’t tied down was being sucked out through the broken window. His jacket and coat flew past his face and disappeared.
And then Rogan became uniquely aware of the freezing cold.
It was February and they had to be 20,000 feet above ground. Problems were piling up faster than he could list them. That’s when he remembered his training, his combat experience. The way he had survived war was by doing what needed to be done, never dwelling on what he couldn’t control.
At the moment, the only thing he could control was the man with the gun.
Blocking the swirling napkins and papers from his mind, he charged forward. Rogan had to reach the pilot before he too got back to his senses. He ran ahead, taking giant strides, and slammed into him.
“Ugh!”
The pilot fought back and he was stronger than the other assassin. In addition, Rogan had much less strength than before after his unforeseen battle. Strangely, he thought about Cass and Glut and finally Victoria. His wife had been the most determined person he’d ever known and she would have told him to give it everything he had.
“You motherfucker!”
The pilot certainly didn’t hear him over the thunderous whoosh from the air rushing out and the strident alarms coming from the cockpit. It didn’t matter, it filled Rogan with energy and he pummeled the Frenchman in the stomach.
He retaliated with an uppercut of his own, sending Rogan reeling back. He wobbled and the only reason he didn’t fall to the ground was the nearby leather seat. He held on to it, catching his breath as best as he could.
The pilot was doing the same until he remembered he still had a pistol. He raised his arm, leveling the gun at the FBI agent but Rogan was already leaping forward. He swiped the gun, making him inadvertently squeeze off another round, but the guy was prepared.
