A Deal to Die For

by Albert Able

  They were the only people who really understood him and the only people that he truly loved.

  Rudi relaxed a little and made a strange grunting noise as they called his name again and then, holding out their hands, they skipped towards him. Rudi received them with his arms outstretched and nuzzling into their soft warm embrace.

  “Now, now, my ‘mighty Apollo’.” Liz ran her nails affectionately down his back. “We think you need to relax, yes?”

  Karen nibbled his lopsided ear. “Come with us, my ‘handsome buck’. We need to ease some of our pent up tension.”

  It took only a few seconds for Rudi to respond to their allure and having calmed down completely, he was quite happily led like an obedient puppy back to their bedroom, where the sisters released him before slowly and seductively removing all his clothes.

  Rudi knew the ritual well and stood obediently without moving, other than to lift a leg to release his pants. Eventually he too stood completely naked.

  Anyone not familiar with that hunched, scared and misshapen body would have almost certainly been forced to look away. Rudi’s sisters, however, had no such prejudice and only saw the brother they loved more than anything else in the whole world. Rudi had always played with them as a child, acting as their bodyguard and mentor.

  Nothing had changed now that they were adult. It was just that the games had become more mature.

  Whatever else Rudi’s body lacked it was not his manhood, which seemed to have developed as compensation for his other faults and Liz and Karen’s own heightened sexuality had no conscience over taking advantage of their ‘favourite little brother’s’ extrovert sexual appetite. They also knew that once Rudi was overcome by one of his blackest of moods, sex was the only ways to bring him back to normality - and how they enjoyed applying the therapy.

  The sisters lay back on the bed each playing their fingers across and over the hardened nipples of the other. Already deeply roused by Rudi’s mood and the knowledge of his sexual potential, they teased him to join in the game.

  Rudi had little time for such refinements and suddenly, fired with rekindled passion leaped in between his sisters. They rolled away, crouching hands mimicking claws, and hissing like battling cats. Rudi snarled and grabbed but each time they pulled just out of reach.

  Liz slipped back on to the bed and brushed her breasts against Rudi’s exposed back and as he turned and snarled at her, Karen leaned over and did the same thing. This cat and mouse game lasted for several minutes until Liz finally allowed him to grab her. He deftly twisted her over on to her back and pushed her on to the bed. Then, like a triumphant gladiator, he mounted her and as he rutted like a wild animal Liz arched her back in ecstasy, while Karen leaned across, kissing her protruding nipples.

  Rudi then repeated the act with Karen. In fact they moved turn and turn about, exploring numerous different approaches for over an hour until, completely sated, both sisters and Rudi lay back in a tangle of arms and legs, dozing blissfully.

  Rudi was the first to disentangle himself and made his way back to his own bedroom and the customised shower he called his ‘car wash’.

  Entering the specially constructed three-metre long cubical he pressed a switch and waited for a green light, indicating that the water was at the correct temperature. Rudi slipped on to a track mounted flip down seat that propelled him along the cubicle. A gentle shower of warm water commenced the ritual and that was followed by pre-selected fragrant foam. Then came a more vigorous spray and the wash was finished with a full power therapy shower, again at a pressure selected by Rudi.

  Rudi sat in the final phase of his shower pondering the telephone conversation with his father and vowing that one day he would take revenge for all the pain and suffering his disadvantaged physical form had brought upon him - and most importantly, just how that revenge would be extracted.

  ***

  Sitting in his palatial air-conditioned office at SKY-SEC, Carl Peterson was seething - but he controlled his anger. Everything he had so meticulously prepared was not developing as planned, his orders were not being carried out as precisely as he wanted and he was not accustomed to such failures of discipline.

  Peterson instinct also told him that the visit by Alex Scott to SKY-SEC was clearly no coincidence. Moreover, the involvement of Sir Adrian Fisher, that idiot Boss of SONIC, proved that somehow they fallen on his trail. Now, with Rudi’s reckless, unauthorised killing of Sir Gerald Fisher and the woman, he knew that SONIC would be even more tenacious and would certainly not sit still with several of their own murdered.

  On top of all of that the Russian suicide bomber. Instead of fulfilling the planned attack, with its nuclear blast creating havoc and creating the perfect opportunity to secretly leak the information that there were going to be three more such damaging detonations, the man was perched on the steps of the GUM Shopping Mal making demands for the release of some obscure Kurdish prisoners.

  It was clear that Mustafa must have cheated him, but even worse, the Russian authorities had imposed a temporary news blackout forbidding any publicity about the incident and so had not started the stock market panic he’d been hoping for.

  It was obvious to Carl Peterson that although he had given Mustafa’s bombers specific confidential instructions on the targets, the so-called suicide bombers were now each planning to use the weapons to fulfil their own agendas.

  Fortunately, only the Russian bomb had been handed over; the others remained in a secure location.

  As he paced his office, stopping from time to time to gaze out of the picture window, Carl Peterson made up his mind. He would use the twins and Rudi to place the other bombs, which would also allow him the chance to vindicate himself with them.

  ***

  The return trip from the camp was considerably more sedate, with the Pulaski Dame driving and the others mostly dozing in the back of the car.

  When they arrived at Igor’s office, Igor instructed the driver to take the others home while he and Hassan went to meet Alex.

  Igor had already outlined the situation at the camp and so Alex was very keen to meet Hassan Eddie.

  Igor gestured to Hassan: “This is the man I think you want to meet.”

  “So, Igor has already told me some of your extraordinary story,” Alex shook Hassan by the hand.

  “Yes, and he’s anxious to assist us. He thinks he might be able to negotiate with the bomber.” Igor looked at Hassan.

  “Yes I’d like to try talking to the man,” Hassan took up the invitation. “You see, I trained with several of these people and might just be able to get his attention and hopefully persuade them not to explode the bomb.”

  “So I understand,” Alex picked up the telephone. “I’ve already spoken to the Chief of Police and he is going to get you flown to Moscow in a military helicopter.”

  Alex dialled and waited. “Hi Yuri, yes he’s here and ready to go.” Alex replaced the receiver.

  “Just so you know, Hassan. The man organising this mission to Moscow for us is the man that you were supposed to kill.” Alex held the young man’s attention. “Now, are you quite certain you want to help us, or are you trying some cunning ploy to get close to Yuri Drumenco?”

  “I might have been, had I not seen that Igor Pulaski is a genuine citizen who helps people regardless of colour or creed.” Hassan took a deep breath. “That does not mean I do not hate the people responsible for my brother’s death, but now I am convinced that I can do more for him and others by behaving more like Igor.”

  Three hours later the helicopter carrying Hassan Eddie, Alex Scott and Igor Pulaski settled in a cloud of dust in the centre of Red Square where several police vehicles formed a square around a ‘Mobile Incident Centre’ that had been set up as the command post.

  The noisy helicopter immediately took off again and disappeared from view over the b
uildings. Even before the dust and debris disturbed by the departing helicopter had settled, a uniformed officer stepped down from the command post.

  “Captain Ustinoffe,” he introduced himself, “this way please.” He summoned the three men in surprisingly good English.

  The Captain had already been briefed and knew that Alex and his colleague were acting on behalf of a joint Russian and UN counter-terrorist initiative. Even though having to take orders from some foreign officer riled him, he knew he must cooperate without question.

  ‘Seems the Boss still has the right kind of influence,’ Alex thought to himself when he was advised of the arrangement.

  The Captain glanced at his wristwatch as they assembled in the command post. “The man has refused to talk other than demanding that we must release the three Kurdish prisoners. The time limit is up in fifteen minutes,” he nodded towards the shopping mall. “He has three hostages: two small children and their mother. It seems that he has tied himself and the children to a pillar. The mother is not restrained, he uses her to fetch and carry messages. We have evacuated all the civilians from inside and around the area and installed an armed security screen surrounding the building. They have instructions to shoot but only on my direct instruction. We also..”

  Having quickly surveyed the situation Alex was horrified to see so many police and military personnel located within the blast zone. If the device were as big as he suspected, the loss of life if it were exploded would be in the hundreds - even the command centre would be obliterated.

  “Excuse me Captain,” Alex interrupted, raising a hand politely, “but have you been advised as what type of explosive the terrorist might have?”

  “The only information we have is that the man is sitting on a metal case believed to contain explosives.”

  Alex carefully closed the door of the command post and looked directly into the Captain’s eyes. “Captain, I’m afraid that there is precious little time so I’m going to have to trust you.”

  He paused but the Captain chose not to react and so Alex continued: “If what I’m about to tell you were to get out, the whole incident would develop into one of those unstoppable political panics.”

  The Captain remained unmoved and did not speak.

  “You see Captain, there is a strong possibility that the bomb is actually a nuclear device with enough power to obliterate everything within one hundred meters of the detonation - and that includes this command post.” Alex looked about. “In the first instance, therefore, I recommend that immediately, but as quietly as possible, you pull all your men - and if possible, this command post - back from the areas close to the target. There is no time to do much else. In the meantime Hassan and I will have to make one last attempt to approach the bomber.”

  The Captain was obviously stunned by the information and stood in silence trying to take in the enormity of what Alex Scott had just told him. To the Captain’s credit, his training combined with some common sense quickly overcame any prejudice or resentment at being upstaged by some unknown foreigner.

  When he did finally react, he spoke in a hushed whisper. “My God, if what you say is correct all my men in the building...”

  Without any further hesitation he Captain spoke rapidly into his radio.

  Alex looked at Hassan: “Are you still up for it?”

  Hassan looked at his hand, which trembled for a moment before he clamped them firmly together. “I said I would try, so let’s go.”

  “I’ll go with you. You can tell him I’m a UN representative of Kurdish affairs or something.” Alex smiled encouragement, and then led Hassan by the elbow down the steps of the command post. But Igor stood in their way.

  “So how’s your Russian? Or you’re Kurdish for that matter, eh? I think you had better let me to this bit, Alex.”

  Igor replaced Alex’s hand on Hassan’s elbow and they started across the square.

  Alex Scott knew there had been no point in resisting. Igor was right, of course. His lack of fluent Russian would only make the suicide bomber suspicious and less cooperative.

  The wonder of the magnificent façade of the nineteenth century building was far from either of their thoughts as they approached the giant arched twin towered entrance.

  Captain Ustinoffe took a deep breath as he watched them leave, admitting to Alex that he was glad he was not going with them.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” A voice interrupted their thoughts.

  The Captain and Alex turned to see a bespectacled man standing at the door of the command post.

  “I’m here to defuse the device,” he said simply.

  The Captain was about to ask why, considering that they already had their own experienced bomb disposal team in place, when he suddenly realised that their conventional skills would be useless in this instance.

  “Come in, they are going to try and talk the man into surrendering.”

  The Captain pointed to the two lonely figures as they stopped at the main entrance of the giant GUM Shopping Mall.

  As the bespectacled man stepped up into the command post, Alex approached the Captain.

  “They have almost no chance, I suppose you realise that?”

  “Why not?” The Captain seemed surprised.

  “Because the suicide bomber will blow them all and the rest of us to pieces as soon as he realises they are not genuine.” Alex cocked his head and nodded towards a point away from the entrance. “You see that column, if I can get over and slip behind it whilst he is distracted by the others, I may be able to get close enough to get a shot at him, if it looks like getting out of control, of course.”

  The Captain quickly weighed up the situation and made his decision. “You’re right, you should go now.”

  “I need a weapon,” Alex pointed to the Captain’s holster.

  The Captain smiled. “Of course”, he said, extracting the point thirty-eight Webly and Scott semi-automatic. “Given to me by a British officer when I was serving in Berlin.” He passed the weapon to Alex. “It’s never been used in anger.”

  Alex took the pistol, weighing it carefully in his hand. He slid the body back slightly, checked and noted that the chamber was empty. “Do you mind?” Alex looked at the Captain who nodded understanding. Alex aimed the pistol at the floor and pulled the trigger.

  “Perfect,” he mused, satisfied that the trigger pressure was to his liking. “This’ll take care of it alright.”

  Alex cocked the pistol, pumping a round in to the chamber and pushing the safety to fire as he slipped out of the caravan. Bent double, he sprinted across the one hundred metres of open ground and took up position in the shade of one of the great pillars about a couple of meters or so from the wide entrance where Igor and Hassan stood peering into the shadows of the stone floored vestibule.

  There was no obvious sign of the bomber but as they started forward a woman appeared, her voice trembling. “He says to stop there.” She looked back anxiously into the shadows of the entrance obviously waiting for her next instruction.

  Holding out his hands in supplication, Hassan called in the direction the woman was starring. “We are unarmed and have come to talk.” Then pointing at Igor, he continued: “This a UN representative for Kurdish affairs and thinks he can help you.”

  The woman retreated back into the building. As the seconds ticked by, the strange silence was broken in a nerve jangling intrusion as the noisy flutter of wings announced the arrival of a dozen or more pigeons choosing that moment to descend just a few metres away. The birds looked about suspiciously for a second or two before taking off again in wild panic as the woman reappeared.

  “You must come in here.” The woman gestured desperately.

  Hassan led the way through the arch. The man in his early twenties was sitting on a folding campstool, a bright polished metal case between his feet. Two
children, aged five or six, sat cross-legged on the floor, gagged and tied together to one side of him.

  As the two men approached, the man raised his hand, threatening: “That’s close enough.” The hand held a small black box with a stubby aerial. “Any clever stuff and...” he waved what was obviously the detonator.

  “We are not armed,” Hassan repeated, raising his arms and turning completely around for the suicide bomber to see. “I’m Hassan, this is Igor. What’s you name?”

  The man was still suspicious. “My name doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if you don’t release the three prisoners, I will kill us all.”

  Arching his neck and breathing jerkily, his voice was verging on hysteria, his eyes wide and wild as he looked away from Igor and Hassan.

  “Where’s the mother?”

  “I’m here,” a tiny voice called back immediately as the woman emerged from the shadows.

  The children strained, their eyes filing with tears in silent appeal to their mother.

  “I am in a position to negotiate the release of the men you have requested,” Igor said in a conversational tone, “but I’m sure you’ll understand that it will all take more time than you are giving me.”

  Igor looked at his watch.

  “I know that old trick, you’re just playing for time,” the bomber sneered.

  “Ah, I can see that you’ve have been professionally trained.” Hassan nodded his head approvingly, seizing the opportunity to get the man’s attention.

  “What do you now about it?” The bomber asked curiously.

  “I know everything about it because you see I’ve also been professionally trained to do exactly what you are planning to do as well!”

  Hassan held the man’s stare. “You see I have been in precisely the same situation as you.”

  He looked at his own hands for a moment, noting that the trembling had stopped and then looked directly at the bomber. “Oh yes I was trained by...”

  In a conversational manner, Hassan detailed every moment of his own training, the indoctrination process and how he was made familiar with handling and priming the explosives. He told the suicide bomber his own story of how his little brother had been gunned down at a peaceful demonstration and how he was still burning for revenge. All the time he was inching closer to the bomber sitting on the stool; eventually he slowly settled into a crouching position alongside the children and facing the bomber while Igor remained standing slightly to Hassan’s other side.