The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1)

by C. S. De Mel

  A man at the counter was busy talking on the phone, a half-eaten chicken pot pie in front of him. At the same time, he was listening closely to the conversation that Bruce and company were engaged in. He had been eavesdropping from the moment Bruce and Santos sat down at their table. “Come to my location now...” The man ended the call. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over his jacket where his pistol was concealed. He pushed out his barstool, cracked his knuckles to ease his tension, then proceeded to walk over to Bruce’s table.

  ***

  Roy’s squad car hummed happily while he kept it at a slow crawl, looking for a good pizza joint. They were in the heart of Brooklyn now. Roy kept his eyes peeled, but nothing seemed to catch his interest. “Too many options—I can’t decide. What you say, Varick?”

  Varick shrugged. “One pizza place is as good as the next. I’m not picky.”

  “Alright, next decent-looking one, we’ll stop at.” As they approached the intersection, a white Volvo zipped through the red light. Roy slammed his breaks to avoid being T-boned.

  Marlon lurched forward and jarred awake from his nap. “What the f—” but just as quickly, got slammed back into the seat as Roy took off in pursuit.

  “Sorry, kids. We’re gonna hold off on that pizza for a bit,” Roy muttered.

  “Get him,” growled Varick.

  The police car’s siren blared as it tailed the speeding vehicle. The Volvo clearly had no intentions of pulling over. The car increased its speed and began to erratically change lanes. “That’s good, real good. Try a hungry man’s patience.” Roy stepped on the gas, keeping pace with the Volvo. “I’m going to end this quick, but it might get a little bumpy. Hold on to something, guys.” Roy changed lanes so that he was two lanes over, on the innermost lane. He switched off the siren.

  Estuardo, the man in the Volvo, scanned his mirrors, but he couldn’t locate the police car amidst the traffic. He squeezed the steering wheel nervously. Something didn’t feel right. A side street was fast approaching. Estuardo sharply cut across lanes to make the turn. Horns screamed as he dangerously maneuvered his vehicle.

  “You’re mine!” Roy gunned the engine and managed to catch the rear bumper of the Volvo in mid-turn. Estuardo was forced into a fishtail and fruitlessly tried to regain control of his vehicle. The Volvo hopped the curb and crashed into the brick wall of a finance building.

  Roy Cameron jumped out of his car and, with Varick backing him up, rushed to the Volvo. Roy drew his gun and smashed the driver’s side window. “Don’t you move!”

  “Alright, alright—relax.” Estuardo raised both his hands and was visibly dazed from the crash. He shook his head to regain his bearings—and then an eerie smile crossed his face. “But to be honest…I don’t think you really have time for me.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Because saving lives probably takes priority over something like this.”

  Varick leered into the window. “What are you talking about?”

  Estuardo glanced at Varick. “And who are you?”

  “He’s a cop too,” snarled Roy. “Now, shut up with the lip and answer the man.”

  “At this very moment, someone’s about to be killed. A very important man. I think it would concern the police most deeply.” Estuardo chuckled. “Especially since this person is so involved with the police.”

  Roy’s eyes shifted with concern. “A cop?”

  “No, not police—military. An army captain.”

  Varick stared through the window. “Bruce Kasparov…”

  Estuardo nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “Where’s this happening?” The urgency in Varick’s tone was clear.

  Estuardo laughed. “Now, if I’m going to tell you that, I’m going to need some guarantees. I want no charges placed on me. And I think a cash reward is in order.”

  “Sir, unbuckle your seat belt,” Roy instructed.

  “Anything you say, Officer.” Estuardo complied without hesitation.

  Roy and Varick exchanged glances. Roy nodded. With a swift stroke, Varick reached in through the broken window, pulled Estuardo through the glass shards, and threw him onto the pavement.

  “Are you crazy?!” screamed Estuardo. He pulled out a large piece of glass from his arm. Varick slammed the side of Estuardo’s head down on the road, forcing him to kiss the asphalt. Estuardo grunted in pain as Varick held Estuardo’s head in place and leaned in close. Estuardo began to whimper.

  “WHERE ARE THEY?!” Varick roared.

  ***

  “Uh-oh, Varick is calling my phone,” Santos informed. “He’s probably going to tell me off.”

  Bruce checked his phone. “Shoot...two missed calls from him. I didn’t even notice—this piece of junk phone. What are we going to tell him?”

  “Alright, I’ll improvise something,” Santos muttered.

  “No, wait!” Bruce yelled out, before Santos could answer the call. “Let it ring out. I’ll call him back once we get a solid story.”

  Uecker looked affronted. “What, you can’t tell your friends you’re out with me and Taz? You’re ashamed to be around old geezers like us?! We aren’t hip enough for you young pups?!”

  “No, it’s not that, it’s just that—” Santos stopped talking when he noticed the man standing in front of their table.

  “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”

  Bruce looked up at the man. He was tall, with dark, floppy hair matted to his head. He had a Spanish accent and brought with him the stench of cigarettes. “Yeah? Which part caught your attention?”

  The man smiled. “Well, you in particular. You’re Bruce Kasparov, right? The legend himself.”

  Uecker laughed. “Well, look at you, Sonny Jim, the celebrity over here!” Uecker then turned his attention to the newcomer. “But he doesn’t give out autographs for free, you know. I’m his manager; twenty dollars a pop, and of course, I get a percentage of that.” Uecker winked at Bruce.

  The man chuckled lightly. “Oh no, that’s quite alright, I don’t need an autograph. Thank you though, for such a tempting offer. But I actually approached this table on a different matter…”

  ***

  Roy’s squad car was cutting in and out of lanes while his police siren screamed at the traffic. Varick had his ear to his cell phone: five rings…six rings... “Blast it, still no luck!” Varick yelled, closing his flip phone. “They aren’t picking up...Bruce or Santos.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon,” Roy replied.

  “Yo, you sure you can’t let me out?” Estuardo whined. “I gave you guys valuable information!”

  Roy’s eye twitched in annoyance. “First of all, we’re dragging you along to make sure you’re not full of crap. Second—even if this coffee shop checks out, you tried to get out of your reckless driving rap by confessing to conspiracy to commit murder. You, sir, are a moron.”

  “Yo, homes, your boy roughed me up real good. I think I have a concussion or something. Cut me some slack.”

  “Shut—up,” Varick ordered.

  “What you gonna do, pig?” Estuardo taunted. “This cage works both ways, you know.” He began to laugh.

  “Marlon,” Varick signalled.

  “PAH!” Marlon yelled out, as he slugged Estuardo in the stomach with his cuffed hands. Estuardo heaved in pain, feeling lightheaded.

  This seemed to satisfy Varick. “See, Marlon here might get out of here soon. But not you—homes.”

  ***

  “Are you aware of who runs Brooklyn, Captain?”

  Bruce puzzled over the question. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking...”

  The man scoffed. “Scorcher. Scorcher runs Brooklyn.” Kasparov exchanged glances with Santos. “You run a great risk coming to this part of town, you know. Don’t know who you’ll run into. Especially when the buzz around town is that Scorcher wants you dead…”

  Taz stopped eating his soup. Uecker, for once, held his tongue. Bruce notic
ed Santos’ fist clenching, despite keeping a calm demeanor.

  “Relax,” Bruce instructed Santos. “You don’t need to get involved, I’ll handle this.” Bruce refocused his attention on the intruder. “So, I take it you’re in Scorcher’s employment…well, here I am. How would you like to proceed?” Bruce smiled at the man, who responded with an angry sneer. Patrons looked on anxiously and the coffee shop had gone deathly quiet.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Any one of you move a muscle and you’re all dead. I just want the Captain.” Bruce eyed the bulge in the man’s jacket.

  “There’ll be no interference from them, I assure you,” Bruce responded curtly.

  The man slowly edged toward the entrance door, keeping a safe distance between Bruce and himself. The man snickered. “Now that I’ve seen you up close, you’re not so tough. Too much credit is given where it ain’t due. But me, once I ice you…I’ll be a legend. Say goodbye!”

  The man whipped out the gun from inside his jacket, but he didn’t even have a chance to aim it. Bruce directed his arm at the man and made a pushing motion at lightning speed. This simple gesture sent the man flying off his feet and sailing through the air. He crashed through the pane of glass on the north side of the coffee shop, where he bounced onto the sidewalk and crumpled in a heap. People outside the shop screamed in surprise.

  There was shock and awe from the few patrons inside the coffee shop. Taz’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “What in the hell was that!? You didn’t even touch him!” Taz was trying to find the words to express himself properly without gibbering. “How in the world…son, are you some sort of space-alien?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly up to date on my genealogy, so who knows.” Bruce stood up and eyed Scorcher’s goon, who was now face-down on the sidewalk. He appeared to be knocked out cold, his gun strewn out onto the road.

  Uecker scoffed. “You were impressed by that, Taz? Hang out with these Legion boys for a week and your head will be spinning.”

  Santos scratched at the side of his short scruffy beard. He was uncomfortably aware that everyone was gawking at their table. The slightest of smiles crossed his face. “You might have overdone it a tad there, Bruce.”

  ***

  Chapter 4 – Pike Fishing

  Brooklyn, New York, 5:55 p.m.

  Varick and Roy stormed into the coffee shop. The young lady behind the counter screamed at the sight of Roy’s gun. “Cripes, Cameron, put that thing away before you blow someone’s head off,” Bruce muttered. He was down on one knee, examining the man he had sent through the window.

  “Don’t worry, miss, he’s a cop,” Santos reassured the petrified counter lady.

  Varick and Roy were still on edge. Their eyes scanned the coffee shop: it was evident that the danger had passed. Roy slowly lowered his piece.

  “What the hell happened?” Varick demanded.

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Bruce replied, while he slapped the unconscious man a few times across the face. Still no response.

  Santos was standing beside Bruce, looking down with concern. “Doesn’t look like he’s going to be up and about anytime soon.”

  “How’d you two know to show up here?” Bruce asked.

  “We ran into some punk who was heading here—to off you, apparently,” Varick replied.

  “Heh…small world.”

  Varick wasn’t smiling. He eyed Uecker and Taz, who were listening intently to the conversation. Uecker cleared his throat and looked expectantly at Bruce and Santos. “Not going to introduce us?” Bruce and Santos exchanged glances.

  Bruce did his best to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, this is Uecker and Taz—friends of ours.”

  Uecker chuckled. “More like they’re doing their good deed for the week because us old folk are the stereotypical social outcasts. Not that we don’t enjoy eating on their bill.”

  “This is why you left our investigation?” Varick asked Bruce in disbelief. “To baby-sit?”

  “Hey, just because we take the occasional crap in our pants and eat carrot mush, it doesn’t make us babies,” Uecker said indignantly.

  “Shut up, old man, I’m not talking to you.”

  Uecker stood up. “Nancy boy can’t take a joke! What you need is a good smack upside your head to teach you some respect!”

  Bruce was on his feet now too. “Whoa, whoa, everyone settle down, this is all just a big misunderstanding. Besides, I had no idea this was a supper. All I heard from Santos was that it was important—he called and I went.”

  Santos scoffed. “Oh sure, throw me under the bus on this, Bruce.”

  “Well, at least nothing happened,” Roy pointed out, in an attempt to douse the sparks. “Everyone’s in one piece.”

  Varick looked down at the unconscious man and then to Bruce. “How did he know you were here?”

  “No clue,” Bruce muttered. “But apparently, Scorcher’s put a hit out on me.”

  Roy laughed. “Well, that was dumb of them. They just prematurely revealed their hand. Surely they must’ve known that a couple of second-rate thugs wouldn’t be enough to get the job done.”

  Bruce contemplated the situation. “This wasn’t a planned attack...I just happened to be in the neighbourhood and this goof thought it smart to take a crack at it.”

  Santos nodded in agreement. “Yeah, well, either way, it seems like Brooklyn isn’t a safe spot for you, Bruce. It’s crawling with Scorcher’s loose cannons, and they’re ready to strike out anytime, anyplace.”

  Varick stared darkly at Santos. “So…let me see if I have all the facts, Santos. You decide to call Bruce to this rat-hole of a coffee shop, pulling him away from actual work—” Varick glanced at Uecker and Taz, “to socialize with these two.” Uecker rolled his eyes, while Taz bore no acknowledgement of the scathing tone. Varick paused. “And then, by coincidence, Bruce gets attacked?”

  Santos gave Varick a calculating stare. “So, what are you trying to say?”

  Varick immediately regretted saying anything at all. “Just making sure no details were left out.” He hastily changed the direction of the conversation. “Listen, I’m sure Roy can haul out the meat-bag on the floor and handle cleaning up the mess here.”

  Roy scratched his head. “Yeah, sure I guess...but my clown car’s gettin’ real full.”

  Varick nodded. “Bruce, you got my keys? Let’s take off.” Varick tried to act casual, but his thoughts still troubled him.

  Bruce said his goodbyes to his new friends, Uecker and Taz, then left with Varick. Varick was fully aware that Santos had followed him out of the coffee shop, but did not acknowledge his presence until he was in front of his car. “You need something, Santos?”

  “Well, a ride back to the manor would be nice—since we’re all going that way, after all.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “You know, the usual: walked, scaled the buildings, flew low over the rooftops when the opportunities presented themselves...”

  What irked Varick about Santos was that he knew he wasn’t joking when he said things like this. Varick sneered. “You can’t do ‘the usual’ back home?”

  Bruce frowned at the two of them. “Now, what is a captain to do when his two lieutenants don’t get along?”

  Santos appeared puzzled. “I have no problem with Varick.”

  Bruce smiled. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do…I’m going to make it a personal goal of mine. By the end of this year—no wait, by the end of this millennium!” Bruce now appeared positively gleeful. “You two are going to be able to tolerate each other. Maybe even become best buds!” Varick scoffed. Bruce placed one hand on Varick’s shoulder, the other on Santos’. “Either that, or I’ll put you both in traction.”

  Varick gave Bruce a thumbs-up and a patronizing smirk. “Good luck with that, boss.”

  ***

  Thursday, October 7th, 1999

  Dubrava Prison, Kosovo, 6:00 p.m.

  In was eerily quiet in the detention cent
er. The only sound that could be heard was the steady drip of water, leaking from the ceiling. The monotony was broken by footsteps entering this particular wing of the prison. The prison guard’s footsteps echoed off the concrete, whereas the man following behind him made no sound at all. The guard stopped by a cell. “Zamir, you have a visitor.” Once the announcement was made, the guard left the wing.

  Zamir Ristani was lying down on his bed with his eyes closed. The thin mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable. Upon hearing his name being called, he opened his eyes drearily. “Who’s there?” he croaked.

  “Get up, Ristani.”

  Zamir sighed and slowly crawled out of his bed. He leaned against the wall to face his guest.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  Zamir stared at the man. “Akira Luong...” He wasn’t very tall and had ghostly-pale skin. He could see the hint of a dark-green claw that reached out from under his white dress shirt to scratch his neck. Part of a tattoo. What Zamir found most striking about his visitor was his hair. It appeared to be natural, but it was a very strange shade of red that glistened under the dim lighting. Almost like blood...

  “Do you know whom I represent?” Akira spoke in barely a whisper, but Zamir was able to catch every word.

  “I have an idea…”

  “Good—then we can skip the introductions. Explain to me what happened.”

  Zamir looked at Akira, confused. “You know what happened.”

  Akira’s eyes narrowed. “Humor me.”

  Zamir knew this was not a man to test. “Arben Bardha led NATO right to our doorstep.” Zamir suddenly felt a surge of anger. “He needs to pay! That traitor scum needs to be killed!”

  “He will be dealt with in due time.”

  “But he is sure to be held in protective custody. Maybe even impossible to get to.”