by C. S. De Mel
“Yeah, right.” Bruce continued to smirk. “I could beat you back then, I could beat you now.”
Alex rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like fighting words to me! I want to see a good show.”
Santos raised a hand. “Mind you, Alex, I’d like to think we’re good players—but only by amateur standards.”
“Good players by amateur standards...” Alex scratched his head. “So where does that put me?”
Bruce laughed. “You can fill in that blank, Alex.”
“Well, whatever, let’s just scrap this game—you two can have at it,” Alex insisted.
“Hold that thought, Alex. You two finish.” Santos held up his cell phone. “I got a call.”
Santos stepped into the kitchen and answered his phone. As he listened to what the man on the other end had to say, Santos’ pleasant mood was suddenly overtaken by shock. A feeling of complete and utter shock. “Uh-huh. Okay—thank you...” The conversation ended. Santos looked down at his cell phone in disbelief.
“Hey, Santos, just look at this board position!” Bruce laughed hysterically.
Alex shook his head and grinned. “You really are the worst winner I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh Alex...Alex-Alex-Alex. You could’ve easily avoided this.” Bruce stopped laughing upon seeing the expression on Santos’ face. “What is it?”
Santos’ mouth hung slightly open for a moment. “That was Uecker’s executor. He left his money to me.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Really? How much?”
“All of it. Nearly three million.”
It was Bruce’s turn to go slack-jawed. “Uecker?”
Santos rubbed his forehead. “He was a venture capitalist, and he had a long history of playing the stocks. I didn’t realize he did that well or had that much money saved up... I don’t believe this...”
Alex looked at Santos in amazement. “Holy...that’s ridiculous!”
“Yeah, I’ll say,” Bruce remarked. “With that kind of money, why wasn’t he living like a baller instead of a grumpy old fart?”
“I think he had other plans for his money.”
Alex smirked. “Other plans such as leaving all of his money solely to you?”
Santos shook his head. “No, not to me—to the Legion. This was meant for the Legion.” He looked from Bruce to Alex, with inspired zeal. “We’re going to make sure this money goes where it’s needed most. To the people that need it most.” Santos looked to Bruce for his input.
Bruce nodded his approval and gave him a thumbs-up. “Well, the evening is still young. This calls for a celebration of thanks. I say we go out for dinner...the fanciest dinner New York has to offer!” Santos raised an eyebrow. Bruce stood up and put an arm around Santos. “Only kidding. But seriously, let’s go out for dinner. Us three, right now—and toast to Uecker’s honor and generosity. He was a good man.”
“Yeah—he was.” Santos smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Alex nodded. “I’m in; I got no pressing school work.”
The three of them put on their coats and stepped outside in high spirits. Santos locked the front door and smiled to himself. Thank you, Uecker. You will be missed, but not forgotten. I’ll make sure everyone knows of your generosity and good heart.
Unbeknownst to the three of them, some distance away, a pair of binoculars was trained on Kasparov Manor. The binoculars followed Bruce out of the brownstone mansion and watched him walk down the sidewalk. On a nearby rooftop, Freddy Vickers lowered his binoculars and smiled to himself. “I see you...”
***
Chital Co. Tower, Manhattan
Tony Calzone banged on Scorcher’s office door urgently. “Scorcher. Scorcher! Big news! Scorcher!!”
Scorcher opened the door, smiling ghoulishly. “A-yeees?”
“I got the call from Freddy. Scorcher—it’s confirmed.”
“Good. Now get out,” said Scorcher, slamming the door in Tony’s face. Hachiuma was already in the office, sitting in Scorcher’s chair. Scorcher pointed at him. “Put him through.” Hachiuma pressed a combination of buttons on the desk panel, then waited as the intercom buzzed. Scorcher anxiously opened and closed his fist.
“I’m here.” The gravelly voice of their master greeted them through the intercom.
“Master, I’m here with Hachiuma. We have the information. Kasparov resides in a brownstone mansion in Greenwich Village, Manhattan. We have the address.”
“A mansion, you say? It must be a Legion outpost. Unlikely that he’s the only Legion member residing at those premises. It makes little difference either way.”
“Should we organize an attack on the manor, Master?” Hachiuma asked.
“No, not yet. Hachiuma, you can go back.”
“Go back?”
“To Thailand. This is not your fight.”
“As you wish, Master.”
“This battle will be won by Scorcher’s hand alone. Or at least, that is how it will appear. I’m coming there.”
Hachiuma’s eyes grew wide. “Master, you’re coming to New York?”
“Yes. It is early December...the details will come.” There was a pause and then static from the intercom. “Yes, the end of December will be the time. For you see, I am not without mercy. I’ll give Bruce Kasparov one last moment to be with his friends, his family—whatever he wants to do. But whence come the toll of the bells...the fireworks ringing in the new year—the new millennium...I will swoop down upon him—and extinguish his life.”
***
Chapter 21 – End of a Millennium
Dubrava Prison, Kosovo
“Hello, Ristani.”
Zamir opened his eyes. Could it be? He stumbled out of bed. Was he imagining things? No, he wasn’t. “Thank God you’re here, Akira!” He could feel himself being overcome with emotion. “It’s Christmas come early!” Akira watched him, amused. In the few months he had been confined to prison, Zamir had wasted away to a shell of his former self. He had lost weight, his beard was thick and scraggly, and it was clear he had suffered many injuries during his stay. “Akira...you have to get me out of here!”
Akira studied Zamir. “I’m surprised you’ve survived here this long. You’re resilient, Ristani. Perhaps if you had arrived here in May, you could have enjoyed the thrill of lining up in the prison yard and being executed with the masses.”
Ristani gripped the bars tightly and focused on Akira with gaunt, unblinking eyes. “It’s time though, right? That’s why you’re here? To free me?”
“Yes. I am here to free you, Ristani.” Akira smiled. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Akira pointed a finger above his head. “Listen. The steady drip. Drip...drip...”
“That’s the water leak from the ceiling.”
“No. That’s the sound of dead souls, slowly dripping out from the husks of crushed dreams. Drip...drip...drip.” Zamir stared. “Ristani... Do you know what your purpose was?”
He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. He rubbed a hand down his coarse beard. “My purpose?”
“Why did we come to you? Why did we enlist your services and fund your war?”
Zamir paused for a moment. “To bring about a free Kosovo. This is what I was trying to do.”
“No. Your purpose was to reignite a war. Regardless of your failure, the war will start. It has started.”
“But—I don’t understand. The conflict in Kosovo is over. We lost.”
“You lost. Not we—you.” Akira let out a snide laugh. “The scope is a tad larger than Kosovo now...” Akira pointed his hand at Ristani.
Zamir was breathing heavy. His eyes darted frantically. “Akira...no. Wait—no! Please!”
Akira’s eyes glowed as he smiled a devil’s grin. “Here is your freedom...”
“What was that?!” Guards rushed through the wing where Ristani was held, after hearing a massive explosion. They reached his cell to find a grisly sight. The bars on Zamir’s
cell door were melted away. The cold winter air was blowing in through the back wall of the cell—the concrete was almost completely torn open. And there, on the floor of the cell, was Zamir’s charred body. It was still smouldering. The man known as Akira Luong was nowhere to be seen.
***
The Legion gang had decided to peruse the shopping mall, one cold Saturday in December. Laura was keen on getting her Christmas shopping done early and finding something nice for her fiance in particular. Bruce, Varick, Santos, and Alex had decided to tag along and make a day of it. It was only five in the afternoon, but it was already dark outside.
“Getting that beard back I see, Bruce. It’s coming in nicely,” Santos commented.
Bruce chuckled. “It’s not like I’m going to be deployed for a military operation anytime soon, so now’s as good a time as any to bring it back.”
Santos put an arm around Bruce and Varick. “Well, it looks like the beard brothers are back in action!”
“Good god, man...” Varick sighed, bringing his thumb and two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You seriously need to stop saying that every time Bruce cuts loose.”
Laura stifled a laugh. “The beard brothers, huh? Does John’s tuft of fur on his chinny-chin-chin actually qualify?”
“It’s called a goatee,” Varick said, swiping Laura’s hand away as she prodded his chin.
They walked through the mall, stopping next to store windows whenever someone’s eye was caught by an enticing trinket. A hefty man pushed past them, carrying two cases of bottled water stacked on top of each other. Bruce looked over his shoulder, smirking. “And there goes another one. You know what they’re doing, don’t you, Alex?”
“Stockpiling for the end of the world, which you’re directly responsible for?”
“Not funny, Alex,” Varick sniped.
“It’s a little funny,” said Bruce. “I mean, how they managed to pin this Y2K scare on us—it’s mind-boggling. And I’m telling you, that little pipsqueak Stiltson—they believe him. A lot of these people, they’ll believe anything they read or hear.”
“Well, better safe than sorry, I suppose,” Santos said. “Regardless of why it may happen, if it happens the way experts think it might, at least you’re prepared with the essentials.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, is going to happen, come that fateful midnight?”
“Blackouts, stock market crash, financial ruin...” Santos shrugged. “Who knows.”
“Most likely nothing, if you ask me,” Laura said.
“Governments are investing billions of dollars in preventative measures...” Varick scoffed. “It better be nothing.”
They passed by a small electronics shop. There were a few television sets in the window, and all of them had the same news story running:
“It truly is the season of giving. Recently deceased Uecker Clemens has made several posthumous donations to charities around the world, amounting in the millions. These donations include those charities supporting child welfare, crisis relief efforts, and healthcare. It’s believed that the donation arrangements were made by beneficiaries of the will who have chosen to remain anonymous. Given the circumstances surrounding Uecker Clemens’ death and his ties to the controversial group known as the Omega Ops Legion, some have speculated his beneficiaries are in fact Legion members. Whatever the case, one cannot deny such generous actions. For what it’s worth, Mr. Clemens, this reporter thanks you.”
***
Friday, December 24th, 1999
With each day that passed, the snow continued to pile up and prepared New York City for a very white Christmas. It was ironic that this time of December was considered the ‘holiday season’, yet so many people’s stress levels were pushed to their limits because of the fast-paced demand that came with it. It hardly seemed like a holiday at all. Christmas shopping, event planning, relatives visiting, and travel plans: events that should bring about good cheer, simultaneously join together to wreak havoc on a person’s psyche. The cold and snowy winter weather was the white icing atop all of the holiday worry. One person that wasn’t feeling the pressure was Bruce Kasparov. He had come to terms with no longer being part of the U.S. military. He wasn’t going to try and file for an appeal. As far as he was concerned, it simply was a growing process, and that chapter of his life had now come to a close. He looked in the mirror while he carefully knotted a navy-blue tie around his neck. Ever since childhood, it felt like a calling for him to be involved in military service, and he was allowed to carry out that calling for twenty years. In some ways, things wouldn’t change all that much. He was still a man of honor that was bound by duty. Except now, he was focused on only one thing: The Legion.
There was a knock on his bedroom door. “Yeah?”
Santos opened it; he was also in full suit and tie. Bruce wasn’t much of a church goer, but it was a tradition that Santos had them keep up: They would all attend Christmas mass together. More specifically, the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and Santos was insistent that they all dress to the nines. “Ready, Bruce? Varick and Alex are both downstairs.”
“Yeah, just about.” He turned around. “How’s the tie?”
Santos gave him a thumbs-up. “Looks sharp.”
***
Friday, December 31st, 1999
Chital Co. Tower, Manhattan
Scorcher sat by himself in his office. His chair was spun around to face the window, and he had a wine glass in his hand. The bowl of the glass rested on his open palm. He swirled the wine in a slow circular fashion while he gazed off into space. He took a sip from the glass and winced. Wine wasn’t his thing. He had hoped to be a classy villain that could enjoy a glass of wine thusly. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. He threw the half-drunk wine glass over his shoulder, where it smashed on the floor, despite being carpeted. He swung his chair back around and meditated on the poor decision he had just made. He pressed a button on his intercom: “Hello, Patty...send someone up to my office to clean up a wine spill.” Click. Scorcher sighed. “It was all fun and games...” he said aloud to himself. “But now...much like that wine glass—it’s out of my hands.” Scorcher placed both his hands on his desk and looked down at them. He had been instructed to stay out of sight until it was over. “It’s not going to be so fun for you anymore. For you and for me, I suppose.” Scorcher sighed again. “I’m going to miss you, Kasparov.”
***
Bruce wasn’t one to shy away from parties. This year, there were big celebrations being hosted by Legion members in California and they were open to all Legion members and associates. Bruce was initially planning to attend, but after recent events, he had opted for something small, quiet, and simple. Even Christmas Day had been far less grand, with the celebrations kept inside the walls of the manor. New Year’s was set to continue in the same vein. It was just Peter, Varick, Alex, and himself. Peter and Varick had the option to join the festivities in California, but since Bruce was staying, they decided to do the same.
Despite being the biggest New Year’s celebration that would happen in Bruce’s lifetime, there was something immensely humbling about ringing in the occasion on a much more personal level, with his two closest friends and his son. The people most important in his life.
The doorbell rang. “Anyone expecting anyone?” Bruce called. He opened the front door and broke into a grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. Frank, I didn’t know you were coming here!”
“Hey, neither did I. Believe it or not, Stan here talked me into it.” From behind Frank Cormac’s wide frame, his younger brother Stanley popped into view, carrying a brown grocery bag with both hands. “What’s going on, what’s going on, Bruce?!” He was smiling ear to ear. Stanley was in his late twenties, skinny, and had blonde hair like Frank.
Bruce laughed in astonishment. “Wow, this is—I am very surprised to see you here, Stanley.”
“Hey now, don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me, bud?!”
“No, of course not! Come i
n, guys, come in! Don’t stand out there in the cold.” Bruce ushered the Cormac brothers inside and shut the door. “But you of all people, Stan; I thought you’d be in the thick of it all. It’s the freakin’ millennium party!”
“Come on now, Bruce; I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do. Sure, it’s on a much grander scale tonight, but it’s the same old crap. I got a little bit more depth to me than binge drinking and partying.”
“Yeah? What’s in the bag, Stan?” Bruce grinned. “You planning on cooking us all dinner?”
“No-no-no. If you got some turkey or chicken—pot roast in the oven, what have you—I’m here to eat it!” He reached one hand into the bag and pulled out a large liquor bottle. “But I did, however, bring marinades.”
“What’s all the commotion?” Peter made his way to the door with Varick and Alex. Peter smiled. “Oh, what’s this? Guests ready to partake in the New Year celebrations?”
“Indeed it is!” Stanley put the bottle back in his bag, kicked off his shoes, and carried the bag into the kitchen. He set the bag of booze on the counter. “Alright-alright-alriiiight, let’s get this thing started!” But Stanley’s enthusiasm suddenly faltered. He scratched his head, confused. “Jeezes, it is deathly quiet in this giant mansion of yours, Bruce. Music. Let’s get some tunes going, guys. Toss on some Stones to start things off.”
Alex walked up behind his father. “Dad, who is this?”
“That, Alex, is a happy guy.”
Bruce introduced Alex and Stanley to each other. Stanley shook Alex’s hand firmly. “How ya doing, bud? I’m surprised I haven’t met you yet.”
“Yeah, I’m doing pretty good, Stanley.”
“Santos, what’s new, boss man?”
Peter shrugged. “Nothing too out of the ordinary.”
Stanley smirked. “Ah! But I’m just a regular Joe, you see? Legionnaire extraordinaire Mr. Santos probably has a very different idea about what constitutes ‘ordinary’.” Stanley pointed at Bruce. “And you too, buddy, you too! I want some good stories tonight.”
