The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1)

by C. S. De Mel

  Panic had set in for the police teams. “Shit. Carter, we can’t see a thing! What are we doing here?!”

  Carter’s eyes were watering from the smoke. “Hold your positions!” They could not engage Tony’s men with their vision obstructed, but to step out of the smoke would surely be a death wish—they would be thrown into the cross-hairs of the enemy, out of position.

  “You know the orders, Lee,” Frost told the driver. “The moment Scorcher, Hachiuma, and Tony are in the truck, we leave—not before. Everyone else is expendable.” With the cover of smoke, it was relatively safe to open the side door of the truck. Pike leaned out with a rocket launcher in hand. He fired off a round blindly into the smoke.

  Carter’s ears rang. He could hear the screams of his comrades as the rocket impacted. “Fall back, fall back!” He could barely see the entrance doors, but there was no option—they had to move.

  “Oi, Tony. Tony!”

  Tony Calzone was leaning against the sofa, with his gun dangling loosely in his hand. He had a glazed expression on his face. His eyes were half open and staring off into the distance. Someone grabbed Tony by the shoulders and shook him.

  “Huh!?” Tony suddenly jarred back into consciousness. He looked up to see two of his men standing in front of him: It was Ramon and Freddy.

  “We gotta get out of here, boss, c’mon,” Freddy muttered. Ramon took the gun from Tony’s hand and pocketed it. Freddy prepared to hoist Tony to his feet and then noticed the blood trickling from the back of his head. “Oh hell man, this looks bad. It might be a concussion,” Freddy muttered.

  Ramon examined Tony’s injury. “Shit. He needs a hospital. C’mon, let’s get him to the truck.”

  Scorcher laughed. “Like what you see, Kasparov?”

  From inside the vault, Bruce watched in horror as the police forces retreated after being devastated by the rocket.

  Santos balled his hands into fists. “Let’s go, Bruce.”

  Bruce nodded. “I’m taking out that truck, Santos.”

  “NO CHANCE!” Scorcher bursted out, with an unexpected surge of energy. He caught Bruce off guard and struck him repeatedly. Hachiuma was on his feet now too. Both villains were severely injured but knew this was a crucial moment, and they had to muster everything they had to escape. Hachiuma grabbed hold of Santos’ arm and swung him against the wall. Scorcher shot flames through the vault door and up towards the roof like a flare gun.

  Frost spotted them and pointed them out to Lee. “Go get them.” The truck began to move.

  Surprise could only last for so long. Bruce dodged Scorcher’s next two strikes and knocked him to the ground with one punch. Several of Tony’s men were walking alongside the rolling truck and opened fire on Bruce’s position. Bruce pressed up against the side of the vault wall to avoid the hail of gunfire. With the suppressive fire holding Bruce back, Hachiuma escaped out of the vault. Scorcher crawled on his belly, right behind Hachiuma. Once out of the vault, Scorcher stood up and broke into a run.

  Santos regained his footing. He locked eyes with Bruce, who nodded at him. “Let’s pour it on.” With fists glowing, the pair aimed through the vault door and planted their feet. The barrage of energy projectiles they unleashed was truly a sight to behold. Tony’s men scattered from the fearsome attack—the ones that were caught in the barrage were instantly knocked out cold. “Let’s go.” Bruce and Santos darted forward. Bruce aimed his hand at Hachiuma’s back. He had him—until... “What!?” Bruce looked over his shoulder startled as Santos tripped to the floor from a slide tackle... It was Hachiuma’s guard. A second one came out of nowhere and clocked Bruce in the face. With help from the Thai mercenaries, Hachiuma and Scorcher made it into the truck. Ramon and Freddy were already inside with Tony, who was drifting in and out of consciousness. A few of the grunts made it inside as well. Others were still outside the truck, firing upon the police, who were attempting to regain control of the situation. Frost gave Lee the signal. The truck engine roared, and the vehicle screeched through the entrance. It flew over the stairs and landed on the ground with a heavy thud. The police futilely fired upon the vehicle as it barrelled past them. The ringleaders had managed to take flight and elude authorities.

  Bruce and Santos made short work of Hachiuma’s guard; most of their fight had already been knocked out of them by Santos in their initial bout. But these men had unwavering loyalty to Hachiuma. If using themselves as fodder to aid in Hachiuma’s escape was necessary, they were more than ready to oblige. With Scorcher and Hachiuma’s main attack force having escaped in the truck, the stragglers still fighting were quickly subdued by the police. Bruce and Santos walked out of the bank with their heads hung low. This was not a victory in Bruce’s book. Not by a long shot.

  Paramedics were on the scene, transporting injured policemen into the ambulances. Captain Morring stared grimly at Bruce and Santos, as he walked up the steps to meet them. Alex had arrived at the bank as well. From the foot of the stairs, Varick acknowledged Bruce with a nod, then walked off.

  Bruce stared at his son. “Alex…” He gritted his teeth—he couldn’t help it. He was suddenly overcome with a deep feeling of shame.

  “I came right after school—saw it on the news. You okay, Dad?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I need to talk with Captain Morring here…”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll hang back.”

  Santos put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t be long. C’mon, let’s head down.”

  Varick had found a relatively private spot beside a parked vehicle. He pulled out his cell, dialled a number, and held the phone to his ear. He was sick of feeling useless. He should be on the front lines, without having his injuries preventing him from providing any real help. A gruff voice answered Varick’s call: “Yeah?”

  “Billy, this is Varick.” Billy the snitch was Varick’s go-to informant. He conversed briefly with Billy about what had just transpired at First Bank. “I want to know…who was in that truck. And as soon as you find out, you contact me with a location.” Varick’s demeanor hardened while he listened to the response from the other end. “I don’t care how you do it, just take care of it. You’re going to give that information to me, and no one else. There’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  Bruce sighed. “How bad is it?”

  Captain Morring’s gaze strayed through the entrance of the bank to look at the carnage. “Three officers dead. Several injured. The rocket that went off inside the bank is what did most of it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Morring shook his head. “Not your fault. No one was prepared for it.”

  “Like hell it wasn’t your fault, Kasparov.” Carter had joined the huddle. He pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. “You were heading this. Take responsibility for its outcome.”

  “Mommy, Mommy!” The group turned to see the little girl Molly crying as she ran by a stretcher. An officer held her back to prevent her from seeing the grisly sight. Bruce’s heart fell when he saw Molly’s mother on the stretcher. Blood dripped from the bullet entry point in her forehead. Carter scowled darkly at Bruce and stormed off.

  ***

  Chapter 15 – Shocktalk

  Monday, November 1st, 1999

  A heavy rain accompanied by high winds had set down in New York. Monday nights at the Seaberg Lounge were scarcely populated, but with the terrible weather, it was all but deserted. Oswalt Fletcher pulled up outside the club in an unmarked vehicle. He struggled to open his door against the wind, but manage it he did. He pulled his coat collar up high to weather the rainstorm and draped the right sleeve of his jacket over his sling. Walking past the main doors, Oswalt headed to the back entrance. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the front. He rapped sharply on the door. The metal slide on the rectangular peephole opened and a pair of eyes sized up Oswalt. The slide closed and the door creaked open.

  Oswalt stepped inside the small office and wiped his feet on the mat. He extended his hand to the doorman: “Hello, Lucas.” Jack
Solly was seated behind a rickety wooden desk. It was hardly a desk worthy of his stature, but it would suffice for functional purposes. Mark Solly was leaning against the wall beside Jack, with his hands folded across his chest. Jack Solly eyed Oswalt. He rubbed the rainwater out of his hair. “Police identified a body, a couple streets up from the bank. It was Brody.”

  Jack gritted his teeth. “And Wells?”

  Oswalt shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Our guys on the street haven’t been able to find a trace of him or his vehicle,” Mark informed.

  Jack drummed his fingers on his desk. “I want to know…what the hell happened. And my briefcases…they stole my fuckin’ cases!”

  “If I know what it is, I can get police on it to retrieve it.”

  “Well, if it was something I didn’t mind police looking at, I would have considered it. This is a major financial setback,” Jack muttered. “Major.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, I find it hard to believe that this was a coincidence—that they knew to ambush you two,” Jack said, pointing at his sons. “What we got here is a traitor. The only people that knew about the deposit are in this room, excluding Wells and Brody. I know my own blood would never betray me, and Wells is practically family. He’s been in my employment for over ten years.” Solly stared hard into Oswalt. “Which just leaves you.” Keeping his eyes locked on Oswalt, his right hand ruffled through the desk drawer and came up with a gun. Slowly, he placed the gun down on his desk.

  Oswalt’s eyes narrowed. “What would I have to gain from betraying you?”

  “What indeed...”

  “Maybe it was Brody—things went sour with Scorcher’s men, and that’s why he’s roadkill.”

  “Well, we can’t exactly ask him, now can we?”

  Oswalt glanced at where the Solly brothers were positioned in the room. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t make it out of this office alive. “I didn’t turn on you, Jack.”

  He didn’t respond or react. Jack simply stared down Oswalt. A silence fell in the room that was briefly punctured by the wind batting on the office door. Oswalt swallowed but kept his demeanor firm. “So, what happens now?”

  Jack rubbed his creased forehead with two fingers. “Until we locate Wells, we can’t get a complete story. And if it so happens that we find out he’s been deceased as well… I have yet to determine if that bodes well for you or not, Oswalt. I sincerely hope you haven’t betrayed us…for your sake. Until we get to the bottom of this, we’ll be keeping very close eyes on you.”

  Oswalt nodded in acknowledgement. “I have nothing to hide.”

  Jack put the gun back in the drawer. “That’s good to hear.”

  ***

  11:15 p.m.

  Attica Supermax Prison: Since its construction in the 1930s, it has been home to a slew of dangerous criminals and was the site of one of the worst prison riots in history. Tonight, it is the first stop for the stragglers that were rounded up during the First Bank incident.

  The rain was still coming down hard. A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the night sky—a crack like a whip, followed by slow rumbling thunder. “How soon can we get a translator here?”

  “They put in the call. Within the hour, they told me,” Captain Morring replied. “I think that’s pretty good; I’m not exactly sure how common Thai translators are.”

  Carter cracked his knuckles. “Good. I want to know everything—no stone unturned. Those three sword-wielding psychos came with Hachiuma, there isn’t a doubt in my mind. And they’re going to give us something useful, or so help me...”

  “You mean knife-wielding psychos,” one of the officers told Carter.

  “What?”

  “The machete is a knife.”

  Carter stared at the officer as if he were a pile of goose droppings he had just stepped in. “Gee, thanks. I never realized that, you fuckin’ fool.”

  Captain Morring and several police officers from New York City were here in Attica. Bruce had volunteered to come along for the ride as well. Just in case.

  “Why Attica?” a resident guard asked. “Why come all the way here to hold these men?”

  “Because these men were part of a large-scale and very public scene,” Morring replied. “And they’re in Scorcher’s criminal network. It wouldn’t be prudent holding people like that at the local jail. We’re talking about people that have the resources to organize breakouts, and they’ve done so in the past. The prisoner transport here was no picnic, let me tell you. It was nerve-racking not knowing if we were going to make it here in one piece or not.” The blaring sound of an alarm suddenly began to echo off the prison walls. Morring’s eyes darted wildly. “What’s going on?” Guards rushed down the halls. Morring and the others followed after them. It was the cells holding Hachiuma’s mercenaries... All three were lying motionless on the floor.

  “I didn’t know what to do, Warden. One by one, they just started gagging uncontrollably,” the prison guard informed. “I think they poisoned themselves or something.”

  The warden bared his teeth. He was a hulking man in height and muscles and sported a flat-top crew cut. He opened the nearest cell door.

  “You didn’t search them?” Carter demanded.

  “Of course we searched them!” the warden spat. He bent down on one knee to inspect the body. He moved the lower jaw slightly. A white string was dangling from inside his mouth.

  “They must’ve had it inside them,” said the warden. “Regurgitated some sort of lethal poison to keep silent.”

  “Doesn’t matter, they wouldn’t have talked even if they were alive,” Bruce stated bluntly. “And the other goons we managed to roundup are too stupid to know anything. All low rungs.”

  Carter was pissed. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued and slightly uneasy. They would rather die than betray this man Hachiuma... Just what type of person were they dealing with here?

  ***

  Chital Co. Tower, Manhattan

  Scorcher and his men that escaped capture had returned to headquarters. On the top floor, the soldiers were in the lounge, taking in some well-needed R&R. The generals of the operation, so to speak, were engaged in a private meeting inside the office: Scorcher, Hachiuma, Samuel Turly, Gregory Pike, Ulysses Frost, and Tony Calzone. “Well, it wasn’t a total success, but we did manage to get our hands on the bearer bonds,” Tony said proudly. Scorcher and Hachiuma stared down Tony until he shrank into a corner.

  “But we didn’t kill Kasparov...” Frost said, finishing Hachiuma and Scorcher’s thoughts.

  “It appears that head injury has made you delusional, Calzone,” Hachiuma stated sharply. Tony’s head had been wrapped up by one of their doctors.

  Pike opened and closed a fist. “I should’ve had a crack at him.”

  “We should’ve fought to the death. Our failure is inexcusable,” Hachiuma muttered.

  “I’m not surprised you failed,” Scorcher added with grim satisfaction. “I told you not to underestimate Kasparov.” Hachiuma raised his hand in a fit of rage and fired an energy projectile at Scorcher. With one hand, Scorcher stopped the attack and safely dissipated the energy particles. He smiled. “Aren’t we touchy. I’ve given you free rein since you got here, and I think it’s safe to say you’ve run your course.” Hachiuma’s eyes began to glow like red coals.

  “That’s enough,” Turly said, stepping in-between the pair. He pointed to the desk intercom that had started beeping. “That would be the Master.”

  Scorcher lowered his hand. “Frost, take Calzone and Pike and join the others in the lounge. You three, make sure the grunts don’t steal anything.” Frost nodded, and the three exited the office. Turly waited for the door to close, then hit the switch. “Greetings, Master, this is Turly. I’m here with Scorcher and Hachiuma.” The intercom lightly buzzed with static.

  “We couldn’t kill him,” Hachiuma muttered.

  “Yes, I know.” He had a deep gravelly voice that still managed to pierce like a blade. “
And you engaged Bruce as well, Scorcher?”

  “Yeah…”

  “And he defeated both of you... Interesting.” Hachiuma and Scorcher exchanged glances as the intercom buzzed. “This is what I want done. I want to know…where he resides.”

  Scorcher scratched his head. “Where he lives?”

  “No excuses. No progress updates. When you have acquired this information, you will contact me.” There was a pause. “Until then.” The intercom went dead.

  With his fingers interlocked, Scorcher stretched out his arms and generated loud cracks in his knuckles. “Well, that wasn’t so bad...”

  ***

  Wednesday, November 3rd, 1999

  “How’s it going out there New York; Jerry Stiltson coming at you from Shocktalk Radio with another action-packed show. Today, I came across some rather disturbing news—information that I would like to share and discuss with all of you today. Of course, this is continuing our ongoing segments on a topic that has recently come into the public eye: U.S. government involvement with the secret society—that some may go as far as saying is a radical cult group—known as the Omega Ops Legion. Ever since U.S. Army Captain Bruce Kasparov let slip he was in fact a member of the Legion, it begs the question: Does the government have our best interests in mind?”

  It had been two days since the incident at First Bank. Awareness of Legion involvement in the hostage crisis had set off a media firestorm, and none were more vocal on the subject than the seedy radio personality Jerry Stiltson. He had a head start on the competition by having made the Legion his centerpiece for a month now. Shocktalk thrived on sensationalism.