Black Flagged Apex

by Steven Konkoly

  “Time to move,” Daniel said and placed a pair of twenty-dollar bills on the table.

  The cherry trick was their prearranged sign that departure was imminent.

  “Are you sure you want to work it this way?” Melendez asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll babysit them on the way up. Get going,” Daniel said.

  “All right. See you upstairs,” Melendez said and walked through the bar to the lobby.

  The plan was simple, but required careful timing. Melendez would leave the bar a minute before Jessica and their mark, taking the elevator directly to the eighteenth floor. He’d join Munoz in the room across from Benjamin Young’s suite and wait. Munoz had been watching the suite most of the afternoon, making sure that Young didn’t have any uninvited guests. He’d sent Daniel a text message indicating that nobody had approached the suite after he left tonight, leaving him relatively confident that the two men standing at the bar comprised the entire team sent to eliminate Young.

  Jessica stood first, clutching her purse and making brief eye contact with Daniel. He quickly shifted his eyes to Ben and Jerry, both of whom had placed their drinks on the bar. Jessica walked past Young before he could stand up. She placed herself close to the bar and pulled him to her left side, ensuring that her new friend would walk out of the bar with a human shield as they passed the two men on their right. It would probably be enough to discourage the two men from taking a hasty shot in the bar, but it involved unnecessary risk.

  Jessica clung onto Benjamin Young’s arm, and they started walking together toward the spacious lobby opening. Daniel watched Ben and Jerry closely, knowing that the two men would be too focused on Young to notice. He rose from the table as the new couple passed the two operatives. Jessica said something to Young as they passed in front of them. Whatever she said seemed to put their countdown on hold. He saw one them place a hand against the other, in a subtle restraining motion. He’d be willing to bet that Jessica made it clear they were headed to Young’s room and said it loud enough for the assassins to hear. Still, he wasn’t going to rely upon this assessment. They could follow him to the elevator and shoot him as the doors started to close, or take the elevator up with him. He could think of a dozen scenarios, all of which put Jessica right in the line of fire.

  One of the men checked his watch and spoke to the other. Daniel couldn’t believe it. They were actually timing how long they would wait. At least they had enough sense to avoid a bloodbath in the lobby. He left the bar, trailing his wife at a respectable distance. He decided to ride the elevator up with Ben and Jerry, so he diverted toward the concierge for a few moments. From there, he could watch Jessica and Benjamin Young and make sure the two idiots in the bar didn’t change their minds about a public murder. The two men emerged from the bar just as his wife stepped on the elevator ahead of Young. For a brief second, a shiver of panic ran down Daniel’s spine.

  The two men looked like they might go for Jessica’s elevator. Daniel tensed, ready to sprint across the lobby to intercept the men. Ben and Jerry exchanged words and started to walk rapidly toward the elevator bank. Daniel’s right hand drifted along his beltline, pushing the bottom of his suit jacket back. He tried to keep the motion subtle, but they weren’t making it easy for him. They walked directly at the open door, closing the distance to thirty feet. The door started to move at twenty feet, which still didn’t relieve him. One of them could press the “up” button, while the other blasted away into the carriage.

  He firmly grasped the polymer grip of his HK USP Compact pistol and loosened it in the concealed holster. He started to edge toward the elevator bank, hoping to close the distance for a more accurate shot. If either of the men glanced in his direction, there would be little doubt about his intentions. The lead operative reached the elevator buttons a few seconds after the door closed. The illuminated numbers above the elevator door had not started moving, and he looked back at his partner, who shook his head. Daniel eased the gun back into the holster and approached the elevators, pulling out his cell phone.

  Once the illuminated numbers above Jessica’s elevator started moving, the man pressed the elevator button. The closest elevator was on floor three, which should give Jessica enough time to make sure they were in the room before Ben and Jerry appeared on the eighteenth floor. He had no doubt they wouldn’t waste any time eliminating Young and any witnesses that could identify them.

  He dialed Munoz and waited for the elevator.

  “Hey, Jeff. Are the ladies ready for dinner?” Daniel said.

  “Yep. We’re all set here. Are you on your way up?” Munoz replied.

  “I just left the bar. I’ll run by the room and grab Jess. See you in a few.”

  Daniel put the phone in his jacket and nodded cordially at the man who had just stepped away from the glowing elevator button. Instead of returning the nod, the light-haired operative started conversing quietly with the wiry dark-haired man to his left. He watched them while they argued in harsh whispers for several seconds. The dark-haired operative, possibly the leader, ended the argument by telling the blond not to worry. He examined them a moment longer and started to wonder if they had any experience whatsoever with this kind of an operation. The only thing the two of them had going for them as covert operatives was the fact that they were both utterly unremarkable in every way.

  It didn’t really matter. He could in no way afford to underestimate them, no matter how inept they appeared. He was about to spend nearly a full minute alone with them, packed tightly into an enclosed space. If they were craftier than they appeared, Ben and Jerry might try to kill him in the elevator. Daniel wanted to avoid this at all costs. Skill levels didn’t mean much in an elevator.

  He followed them into the elevator, moving to the left corner. He pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.

  “Which floor?” Daniel asked before the man could press the buttons on the other side of the open door.

  “Eighteenth, please,” the man with the thick eyebrows said.

  Daniel pressed the button and settled in for the ride, avoiding eye contact in accordance with the universal code of elevator conduct. His peripheral vision served as his only early warning system in this enclosed space. Any quick movements from either Ben or Jerry would be met with extreme violence. Both of them stared at the numbers above the elevator console. Within several seconds, the elevator started to slow, arriving at the seventeenth floor. Daniel nodded at them and walked briskly to the right, toward the stairs. When he heard the doors close, he broke into a full sprint for the exit sign thirty feet away down the hallway.

  **

  Jessica hung on Young’s arm as they walked down the hallway to his suite. She couldn’t wait to end this deception. Benjamin Young was an arrogant creep. Once in the elevator, he’d cast off any subtlety and began to inquire about her menu of activities. She’d almost broken out of role in the elevator and put a knife to his throat. She was slightly surprised by his quick change of demeanor. Charming and suggestive in the bar, he’d shown the kind of confidence expected from a man receiving flirtatious advances from a beautiful woman. She could have easily lured him upstairs without the overt hints that she was “on the clock,” but they didn’t have that kind of time.

  The two men at the end of the bar smacked of intense desperation and took few measures to conceal their interest in Young. Daniel had locked eyes on them, confirming her suspicion and advancing the timeline. She needed to get Young out of there within the next few minutes. It didn’t require a great deal of effort on her part. Young asked her what she was doing in Atlanta, and she told him that she had recently moved down from Raleigh to find new clients. The follow-up question about her clients led to the immediate departure for his suite on the eighteenth floor.

  The elevator transformed him into a sex fiend. He put his hands on her thigh, sliding them deep into private territory on both sides of her body. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, as he licked the small of her neck and whispered something a
bout putting his cock somewhere she’d considered permanently off limits. She fought every instinct in her body to keep from tensing, responding with a subtle, sensuous exhale, but nothing more than that. She didn’t want to encourage him to the point where he might try to stop the elevator. His hand slid deeper along her inner thigh, and all she could think about was the serrated blade in her purse. Mercifully, the elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor, putting his disgusting behavior on hold. She couldn’t imagine how bad it would get when he closed the door to Suite 1812.

  Benjamin Young sported all of the prerequisites that would identify him as a wealthy, well-heeled gentleman: Armani suit with pocket square, $350 haircut, custom leather shoes, Clive Christian cologne, Rolex, diamond cuff links. But beyond this ungodly expensive, thin veneer, he was no different than the body-odor-soaked, soulless murderers and rapists she’d lived among in Belgrade. He might smell better, but ultimately, he behaved like the rest of them. Countless women and children suffered because of men like Benjamin Young. She hated his type and looked forward to getting him behind closed doors. His reign of terror permanently ended tonight.

  They arrived at his door, and she stole a glance at the peephole on the door directly across from the suite. Munoz and Melendez were waiting patiently for Young’s admirers, which should give her some time alone with Young. He slid the key card in the door and opened it, inviting her in.

  As she entered, he spoke quietly but urgently. “I couldn’t tell from our elevator conversation whether you were into anal play or not. Money isn’t a problem, in case that’s your hang up.”

  She almost started laughing at the absolute desperation of his comment. This appeared to be all he was worried about. His previous “date” had apparently cleared him for rear entry, and this was his sole point of focus. She couldn’t wait to disappoint him. Instead of answering his question, she walked deeper into the suite, placing her handbag on a marble-topped counter. He closed the door and rushed to catch up with her. She felt his hand grip her upper left arm tightly and try to pull her back to face him. He was really concerned about his menu options tonight. She shirked his hand and turned to face him, keeping the matte black, serrated blade concealed along the side of her right wrist.

  “I’m not paying you to ignore me,” he said.

  She just stared at him with a smile, until he stepped forward and reached out to grab her wrist, committing a rookie mistake. She lifted her wrist slightly, just far enough to make it easier for him. Once his hand tightened around her wrist, missing the concealed knife blade by less than a centimeter, she flexed her hand upward and broke his grip. Before he could react, she stepped forward and rapidly slid her hand over his extended arm toward his throat. As he tried to wrap his arm around her, she pivoted on her right foot, which brought her body flush against Young’s back. Her left forearm braced his chin backward as she eased the tip of the five-inch blade against his throat.

  “This ass isn’t for sale,” she hissed in his ear.

  “Everything is for sale. Whatever your game is, I’m into it…but without the knife at my throat. This is definitely something new, but it makes me a little nervous.”

  “Move into the bedroom. Now!” she said, manhandling him toward the bedroom door.

  “Look. This is a little rougher than I expected. Maybe I should pay you for your time and we’ll call it good. Sorry about the misunderstanding,” he said. Jessica could detect fear in his voice.

  “There hasn’t been a misunderstanding, Mr. Young, and no amount of money is going to buy your way out of this one,” she stated, moving him through the door into the bedroom.

  “I never told you my last name. Who are you?”

  “Time to shut the fuck up. If you say another word without my permission, I’ll take a big slice out of that pretty face.”

  “What is going—”

  His comment was interrupted by her left forearm, which exerted incredible pressure on his larynx and prevented him from either speaking or breathing. She shifted the knife and gently placed it near the outside corner of his right eye socket.

  “I’ll give you one more chance. If you say another word, I’ll start cutting. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand me,” she said, and he nodded quickly.

  The quick movement of his head caused the knife to penetrate the skin on his forehead, a consequence that Jessica had foreseen. Young winced, but held steady, not making a single noise when she released the grip on his neck.

  “You need to think carefully about everything you do. Every thought. Every movement. From this point forward, every action has a consequence. Take a seat on the edge of the bed, and don’t fall off. This knife stays right here until my friends arrive.”

  She felt his jaw start to move, as he fought the urge to ask about her friends.

  “Very good. A quick learner. You just might survive the night, Ben. Personally, I hope you don’t, but if you keep following directions, I think you’ll see your family again.”

  Benjamin Young didn’t move a millimeter in response to her comment, which made Jessica smile. Fully compliant in less than a minute. Maybe Sanderson wasn’t full of shit for once. They might even be able to fly back to the coast tonight if Young behaved. If not, they could still enjoy a late dinner and some nightlife in Buckhead. She could think of worse places to be trapped on a Friday night.

  **

  Enrique Melendez sat forward in his chair and watched Jessica Petrovich and Benjamin Young approach the door to Suite 1812 on his monitor. The small, flat-screen monitor was mounted to the edge of the desk in the living area of their two-room suite. Jeffrey Munoz stood next to the door, holding the second monitor, ready to intervene in the hallway if the situation deteriorated. Melendez seriously doubted that Jessica would require their assistance with Young. He’d seen her in action at the high-rise apartment in Buenos Aires and taken part in her knife training drills. Even with an injured hand, Young would be absolutely no match for her skills. Their job was to take care of the two True America operatives, who were most likely a minute or two away from breaking into Suite 1812.

  They had drilled through the glass peephole and replaced the lens with a fiber optic camera capable of providing a high resolution, wide-angle view of the hallway, vastly improving upon the image afforded by the peephole. The fiber optic cable fed into a small digital recorder on the desk, which split the signal to the two monitors and allowed them to rewind and review the feed.

  Just as importantly, it permitted them to closely monitor traffic in the hallway, without standing with their heads pressed to the door for hours on end. Each monitor was attached to fifty feet of video cable, giving them full range of the suite. This had come in handy for Munoz, who had been trapped in Suite 1811 most of the day, making certain that nobody besides Benjamin Young entered Suite 1812. He’d alternated that duty with babysitting the original occupants of Suite 1811, who lay unconscious on the floor of the bedroom, zip-tied and neatly arranged next to each other with pillows under their heads.

  Mr. and Mrs. Hines, a young black couple from Birmingham, Alabama, had checked into the hotel around 4 PM, with 8 PM dinner reservations at Restaurant Eugene. Unfortunately, the exclusive Friday night reservation at this chic gastro destination had already expired, and the rest of their weekend getaway would be ruined by a lingering headache, coupled with a hotel-wide police investigation. Mr. and Mrs. Hines had been hit with a powerful, yet relatively harmless neurotoxin, which would leave them disabled for a few hours. A smaller dose of the neurotoxin would be administered every few hours until the mission was completed.

  Working together earlier in the afternoon, Munoz and Melendez borrowed the housekeeping master key from one of the carts left unattended in the hallway and made a copy with a handheld scanner. Within thirty seconds, they had swiped the master key, storing the key card’s electronic signature in their scanner, and created four copies with blank key cards. The Hines’ were in the middle of unpacking, when two well-dressed Latino
gentlemen suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway holding small metallic tubes. They wouldn’t remember anything beyond that.

  “How was Daniel taking her little show?” Munoz asked.

  “He appeared to be one hundred and ten percent operational,” Melendez answered.

  “We’ll see. I feel bad for the guy.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’s up against the two of them,” Munoz stated.

  “Yeah. Tough break for the guy. All right, they’re in the room. Man, I wish I could see through that door,” Melendez said.

  “You and me, both. She’s probably bitten off one of his ears by now.”

  Munoz’s phone vibrated, and he took the call.

  “Got it. We’ll take them down when they reach the door,” he said into the phone, then cut the call. “Petrovich just hit the stairs. He’ll back us up in the hallway.”

  Several seconds passed before Melendez saw the elevator doors open. Two men walked out, stopping to check the elevator vestibule before proceeding briskly down the hallway toward Suite 1812.

  “They’re moving fast,” Munoz noted.

  Melendez stood up and moved over to the door, grabbing his HK USP Compact from the foot of the bed. The pistol was fitted with a suppressor that appeared longer than the pistol itself. Munoz sat his monitor against the wall, on the small table to the right of the door, and gripped the suppressed Steyr TMP submachine gun attached to the sling over his shoulder. Melendez grabbed the doorknob and watched the two men fill the monitor’s screen. The dark-haired man standing to the left held a pistol in his right hand and a key card in his left. Melendez nodded quickly and quietly pulled the door open.

  Munoz slipped through and stepped to the right, aiming at the light-haired man. Melendez moved straight forward, centering his pistol on the top of the dark-haired man’s back. The dark-haired operative managed to turn his head over his shoulder before Munoz hissed a warning.