The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1)

by C. S. De Mel

  “Hey, I was actually interested in hearing some of your stories, Stan—the debauchery that is your life.”

  Stanley grinned. “We’ll see what happens.” He turned his attention to Varick. “Ah, and Varick, how are ya, old man?!”

  Varick pointed at him warningly. “Hey, hey! I’m younger than both Bruce and Santos.”

  Stanley tapped Varick on the forehead with his index finger. “Not up here you ain’t, buddy.”

  Varick sneered. “Always a pleasure, Stanley.”

  “Yes—it—IS!” He slapped Varick on the back repeatedly. “No, but I jest. I jest because I love. Varick, I love you more than anyone else here, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah...I know...you’ve told me on one too many occasions.” Varick squinted at Stanley. “So, how sauced are you right now?”

  “Love you more than Frankie!” Stanley said, ignoring Varick’s question. He waved a hand at Frank. “No offense, bro.”

  Frank shrugged. “None taken. Over the years, I’ve learned to sorta just tune you out.”

  “My brother’s a stand up guy,” Stanley informed Varick, putting him in a headlock.

  “Alright, alright, get off!” Varick interjected, pushing Stanley’s arm away. “You’re too hyper for me.”

  “Enough talk, boys, my mouth’s getting dry. Let’s get it started.” One by one, Stanley started pulling out liquor bottles and setting them on the table. “You have beer, right, Bruce?”

  “Err, yeah, there’s a few in the fridge.”

  “Good. That’s why I didn’t bring beer. I knew you had beer.” Stanley raised two bottles off the table: “Alright, pour em out!”

  ***

  The group had settled in the living room. Music was playing and everyone was having a good time. And of course, the television was tuned to the millennium bash happening at Times Square. Varick and Bruce joined Stanley and Frank in a few drinks, but the Cormac brothers were the only ones drinking heavy.

  “What’ve you got there, Santos?”

  Santos looked in his glass. “This? Just a soft drink.”

  “Oh, come on, man!” Stanley ran to the fridge, retrieved a beer, and ran back to the living room at an astonishing speed. Stanley handed Santos the bottle. “Here ya go.”

  Santos laughed. “No-no, I’m actually alright, Stanley. Thanks though.”

  “Dude, we’re on the cusp of a new millennium, Santos. One beer! Even Alex has one beer!”

  “Ehh...” Santos hesitated long and hard...until finally: “Okay-okay, one beer! I’m going to keep my pace with you, okay, Alex?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Santos.”

  “There ya go! Cheers, bud!” Stanley and Santos clinked their glass and bottle together.

  Stanley guzzled down his mixed drink like it was a beer and, in the process, spilt a generous amount on his purple dress shirt. “Oh shit.” Stanley put down his drink on the coffee table and tried to siphon off the liquid with his hand. “—And on my favorite shirt...”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “I could’ve sworn you have at least three of those shirts. I’m talking identical.”

  “Now, I put it to you, bro—if you’re looking to buy more of a shirt, wouldn’t the first choice be your favorite?”

  Frank scrunched up his face. “But why look at all? More of the exact same thing? This is clothing we’re talking about, not...not...I can’t think of a good comparison to finish this thought, but you know what I’m getting at.”

  Stanley shook his head in disbelief. He turned to Alex and pointed at his brother. “This guy...”

  Outside the manor, Freddy Vickers was once again playing watchdog. He was perched on the same rooftop as before, watching Bruce’s front door with binoculars. He dialled a number on his cell phone. “Scorcher, he’s still there. Two people went in, but no one has left. I don’t think he’s going anywhere tonight.”

  “Good. Then we’ll bring the New Year’s celebrations to him.”

  ***

  Santos placed a thumb and finger on his chin. “Okay, wait, so what exactly happened to your New Year’s plans, Stanley?”

  “Well, Maximus (the middle brother of the three Cormacs) was planning to come down from Canada so we could both visit Frankie here at Fort Bragg. I told that guy he should come early, come early I told him! He could’ve crashed with me, but he wanted to fly in last minute because he had some other crap to take care of. Sure enough: delay, delay, flight cancelled due to inclement weather... Remind me to call that fool tomorrow and give him hell. So anyway, Frank said he’ll drive it here instead. So here he is, and here we are.”

  Alex scratched his head. “Your brother is named Maximus? Good lord, he sounds like some sort of Roman gladiator.”

  Frank grinned. “You should see him, Alex. He honest to god is. He makes me look like a dwarf. Mind you, I can still give him the old one-two.”

  “Ehh—I dunno, Frank. It’s a close call, but I would put my money on Maximus.”

  “Has he ever gotten the best of me, Stan?”

  “Well, no, but he’s due up. He just keeps getting bigger and stronger. He is due up...” Stanley suddenly looked around the living room, as if startled. “You know what we need here, Bruce? Some girls. Why are there no girls here, Bruce?”

  Bruce shrugged. “Well, I mean, it wasn’t really a party or anything...”

  “In fact, why are there no girls in your Legion club?!”

  “Oh come on now, Stan, you know that’s not true. In fact, just recently, we recruited a female police detective into our ranks.”

  “Oh really? Well then, where is she?”

  “Other obligations—family, that sort of thing.”

  “Ah. But you recruited her, eh, Bruce?” Stan winked.

  “Actually, this one was pretty much all Varick.”

  “Well, will wonders never cease. Look at you, Varick! Well done, sir.”

  Varick raised an eyebrow. “What are you on about? She wanted to join—she was qualified. I vouched for her, and so she joined.”

  “So, is she cute? Ta-tas?”

  “What? I don’t know...”

  “Oh, one of those coppers, eh? A real canine unit.”

  “No, she’s not,” Varick said, becoming increasingly more flustered.

  “Oh-ho! She’s a ten, a perfect ten, isn’t she!? You’re the real canine unit, Varick, you ol’ dog you!” Varick swiped Stanley’s hand away as he tried to pinch his cheek. “I think you’re blushing!”

  “I don’t blush.”

  “No? Well, you should—get some pigmentation circulating, ya know? You look like fuckin’ Moby Dick with a goatee.”

  “You’re one to talk, fool!” Varick snarled. “You’ve got a starchy face. Someone must’ve taken your head and dunked it—into a bowl of starch.”

  ***

  The hours passed and the drinks dwindled. It was just about time now.

  “Alright, here we go, boys. This is it! The countdown...to the possible end of the world!” Stan let out a high-pitched shriek that turned into a hysterical laugh as he stumbled onto the floor.

  “Good god, stand up, man!” Frank hoisted his brother off the floor.

  “No-no, I’m good, I’m good.” He dusted off his shirt and pushed Frank aside, but was still a little wobbly.

  Frank looked at Stan as sternly as a tipsy man could and held up a disciplinary finger. “Up straight!”

  Stan immediately regained an erect posture and saluted Frank. “Jawohl!”

  “Okay, get ready, everybody!” Bruce yelled excitedly, while holding a champagne bottle at the ready. “This is it!” The countdown had begun.

  “Ten! Nine!” Everyone collected their voices in unison and glued their eyes to the television screen. Bruce hurried over to the sound system and turned down the music. “Eight! Seven!”

  Varick and Santos clinked their two beer bottles together. “Six! Five!”

  Frank and Stan were arm in arm now, looking positively ecstatic. “Four! Three!”
<
br />   Bruce stepped behind Alex, putting one hand on his shoulder. “Two! One!”

  “...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” Bruce bit into the cork and ripped it out of the champagne bottle as everyone clapped and cheered.

  “Not just Happy New Year, Happy New Millennium!” Frank boomed. They could hear the fireworks blasting off outside.

  Stan looked around fervently. “No blackouts? No Y2K end of the world?! We’re still standin’, boys!”

  Santos grinned. “That’s worth a toast—get the glasses out!”

  “Glasses out!” Alex picked up the tray with six champagne glasses and held it while Bruce filled up each one. Alex then proceeded to hand them out, one by one. “Hear-hear!”

  “Raise your glasses, everybody, c’mon!” Varick shouted. They clinked their glasses together and took a drink.

  Santos looked around the group. “Anyone care to offer out a toast?”

  “Yeah, I got a toast.” Stanley put down his empty champagne glass on the coffee table and stood in front of the five of them. He raised his arms and extended his index fingers like a mock-conductor. “This about sums it up...” He cleared his throat. “—Should old acquaintance be forgot... C’mon, I know you guys know the words, you Scrooges!” He pointed an accusing finger at the lot of them. “Scrooges, all of you!” He started again: “Should old acquaintance be forgot... Screw you Scrooges! Do it I say!” They exchanged glances and couldn’t help but grin big. Bruce slung an arm around Alex’s neck; Varick, Santos, and Frank huddled together as well, as Stanley led them in song.

  Outside, it was setting up. It was beginning. Scorcher was already out in plain sight. He was looking up at a clear night sky that was being saturated with fireworks. “It’s time...” As the six sang their hearts out, the convoy that was Scorcher’s army rolled into Greenwich Village...

  “Should old acquaintance be forgot?”

  Vehicles. More vehicles. The ones that led the convoy parked in front of the manor.

  “...and never brought to mind?”

  Tony Calzone and all of his top men were coming in sleek, dark-colored cars.

  “Should old acquaintance be forgot?”

  Armor-plated trucks were bringing up the rear. Tonight, every soldier in Scorcher’s army was armed to the teeth.

  “In the days of Auld Lang Syne!”

  They positioned themselves in front of the manor. People on the streets were staring. Several ran in fright, once catching sight of the weapons.

  “For Auld Lang Syne, my dear, for Auld Lang Syne!”

  Bruce squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “Happy New Year, son.”

  Alex grinned back. “Happy New Year, Dad.”

  Tony Calzone and Ulysses Frost stood beside Scorcher. Frost had a rocket launcher hoisted on his shoulder. He got down on one knee and readied himself. People were screaming now, but with the streets as noisy as they were, it was hard to distinguish the celebrations from the panic.

  “We’ll take a cup of kindness, dear!”

  Scorcher eyed the ground floor window of the manor. “Do it.”

  “For the sake of Auld Lang Syne!”

  The gauntlet had been cast. Bruce and the others clinked glasses, laughing and cheering merrily as a rocket whistled out of the launcher...

  ***

  Chapter 22 – Inferno

  An explosion...then fire. The rocket shattered through a ground floor window of Kasparov Manor and exploded.

  Stanley’s eyes darted around, bewildered. “What in the hell was that?!” Bruce and the others were unscathed, safe in the living room and away from the blast area.

  “Wait here, everyone,” Bruce instructed firmly. Alex gritted his teeth anxiously as he watched his father storm out to investigate.

  Bruce was on red alert. He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew it was nothing good. There was visible smoke coming from the west end of the manor. The suspicions of an explosion had been confirmed, and the fire had already begun to spread. This was an attack. He entered the foyer and peered through a window on the north wall. He couldn’t believe it. It was Scorcher. And he had come with an army to his doorstep. Bruce held the curtain ajar so he could peer through the gap without being spotted. Scorcher and his men were watching the front door and waiting—they were planning to flush them out. Bruce mind raced; he needed to act fast.

  Even before reporting his findings, everyone knew that the situation was dire. Bruce had grabbed all their shoes off the front entrance mat and had them cradled in his arms. He stared intently at his friends and family. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “The manor’s been compromised. We need to leave. Right now.” Bruce dumped all the shoes in front of him.

  Varick gritted his teeth. “And the explosion?”

  “Yeah, it was a rocket—the fire’s catching. Scorcher’s out there, and he’s got numbers with him. A lot...”

  “How many?”

  “Around fifty strong, from what I could see. And they’re carrying some big armaments.”

  “What’s the plan here?” Santos asked.

  “Santos, you’re with me. Varick, I need you to get Alex out of here. Go with Frank and Stan. Upstairs—go through the attic, and get to the rooftop.”

  Varick nodded. “You got it.”

  “Frank, you have a piece with you?”

  “Always, Bruce.”

  “Are you in a condition to fire it?”

  “Yeah, I’ll manage.” Frank shook his brother firmly. “Get it together, Stan.”

  Stanley nodded anxiously. “Yeah. Yeah-yeah.”

  Varick looked at Bruce and Peter. “What are you two going to do?”

  “We’re going to hang back and draw their fire.”

  “Can you take them?”

  “We’re gonna have to.”

  “Dad, this is insane—come with us,” Alex pleaded. “We can all get out of here together.”

  “Trust me, Alex. Go with Varick and do as he says—this is not open for discussion!”

  Alex didn’t like it one bit but, nevertheless, heeded his father’s wishes. “Okay, Dad. Stay safe.”

  Bruce nodded. “Go now, guys.” Varick nodded back, and Frank gave him a quick salute. Without further delay, Varick, Alex, Frank, and Stanley moved upstairs.

  Bruce glanced at Santos. “I’m going to need your help on this one, bud. It’s gonna get messy.”

  “Whatever you need, Bruce—I’m here.”

  “Alright then. Let’s hold down the fort.” Bruce and Santos moved into position by the windows.

  ***

  Varick and the others had escaped onto the roof. The temperature outside was frigid, and nobody had stopped for jackets. Alex regretted it tremendously, but given the seriousness of the situation, he had no complaints. Alex’s eye was caught by a metal shed, roughly the size of four outhouses. “We have a shed on the roof? Since when did we have a shed on the roof?”

  “Since always. The roof entrance in the attic, the shed—both installed for emergencies such as this. Everything we need to get out of here safely is in that shed. We only need to set up the zip-line to the adjacent—get down!” Varick yelled. Everyone hit the ground as gunfire passed over them. Alex yelled out—panic-stricken by the gunfire and for lying down in a bed of snow. Varick picked up Alex, Frank assisted Stan, and the four of them scrambled behind the shed for cover. “Did you catch how many there were, Frank?”

  “A couple, at least.” Frank unholstered his Glock from his ankle.

  “Damn. I didn’t expect Scorcher to have men positioned on the roof. He’s going all out.”

  “Anything in that shed we can use, Varick?”

  “Probably. But to get around to the door is going to be the problem.” Varick pulled out his cell and placed a call to Roy Cameron. It was no surprise that the police already knew about the perilous situation: multiple calls from people in the vicinity had alerted them to the carnage in progress. The cops were on their way.

 
Frank peeked out from behind the shed. Gunfire sprayed in his direction, sending him back behind cover. “Yeah, they definitely got our number. I counted three of them. On the opposite roof.”

  “Well, you’re the only one with a gun,” Varick told Frank. “Work your magic.”

  Outside the manor at ground level, the attack was intensifying. Scorcher watched in silence while his army slowly decimated the building. A hailstorm of bullets pummelled the walls and shattered windows—it was unrelenting.

  Tony Calzone and Ulysses Frost stood alongside Scorcher. “Should we send some guys into the house, Scorcher?” Tony waited for an answer, but Scorcher said nothing. He was uncertain whether he had even heard him.

  Scorcher watched the manor, with unblinking eyes. “Bruce Kasparov has stood in the light of glory for a long time. There will be no glamourous finish for this man. I will burn it all to ashes.”

  “...Scorcher?”

  “You two are standing here... Get more heavy armaments from the trucks.”

  Tony was slightly surprised by the coldness and intensity. “Err—sure thing, boss.” Frost and Tony walked away obediently. He glanced back at Scorcher, then stepped in close to Frost. “Does Scorcher seem different to you, Frost?”

  “Why do you ask?” Frost continued to walk.

  “I don’t know, he just seems...scarier. I mean, he’s usually scary, but now—I can’t quite place it. He’s more focused.”

  “Maybe this is him taking things seriously.”

  Tony looked over his shoulder at Scorcher, who remained standing in the same spot, unflinching. “Maybe...”

  Bruce and Santos were positioned by the windows. Their backs were against the wall and, at the moment, safely out of the line of fire. Bruce looked to Santos. “Ready?”