He pushed the cart into the hallway, avoiding eye contact with Resja or the attendant. Halfway across, Dragan swung the cart around so he could pull it into the room instead of push it. This was where it got a bit tricky. He stepped through the open doorway and started to bring the cart with him.
“Hello?” said an alert female voice, followed by movement.
Dragan gripped the Taser in the cart, keeping his back toward the room. He turned his head in time to see a redhead with tightly cropped hair appear at the foot of the bed. Her right hand was hidden behind her right hip, most likely gripping a pistol. He wasn’t going to win this quick-draw match.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “There’s rarely anyone here at this hour. I should have checked with the desk. I even saw someone sitting in the lobby. I’m so stupid. Sorry to have interrupted you.”
The woman’s tense posture eased, but her hand didn’t come away from the concealed weapon.
“Can I help you?” she said sternly.
“I’m just collecting dirty towels. I can come back later,” Dragan said in a wimpy, deferential voice.
“It’s fine. He comes in every night,” said a weak voice from somewhere deeper in the room. “He’s a nice fellow.”
Her arm shifted forward, just slightly. Still not enough for him to take a chance with the Taser. He’d been warned about her.
“It’ll only take a few seconds, but I don’t mind coming back,” he said. “I’m on shift all night.”
She put her hands on her hips, which sealed her fate.
“That’s fine. Just do it qui—”
Dragan turned his body, simultaneously extending the hand gripping the Taser. The woman reacted swiftly, her hand slipping behind her hip, but fifty thousand volts of electricity prevented her from taking any further action. She dropped to her knees, momentarily fighting the Taser’s effects before tipping over onto the floor, her back arched and limbs locked into place.
Keeping the Taser in his right hand, he grabbed the auto-injector syringe and approached her twitching body. A quick jab to one of her legs delivered the sedative. All he had to do at this point was wait several seconds for the strong dose to take full effect. This left him just enough time to take care of the old woman. He glanced in Vesna Erak’s direction, catching her horrified look. She raised her head off the pillow, trying to form words. Nothing escaped her lips beyond a continuous, low-volume gasp.
He stepped past Nicole Erak, placed a hand over Vesna’s mouth, and stabbed her twice in the Adam’s apple with the business end of the auto-injector. It was messy work, better suited for a knife, but it did the job. Her head immediately lowered to the pillow, a weak gurgling sound sputtering from her lips.
Turning his attention back to the target, Dragan disengaged the Taser. When Erak’s body relaxed, he kicked her sharply in the side of the rib cage, eliciting no reaction. She was out cold. Less than ten seconds later, he pushed the fully loaded cart into the hallway.
Chapter 24
Palos Hills Community Hospital
Palos Hills, Illinois
Daniel kept a close watch on the man that pushed the cart into the center of the hallway. The guy had taken a little longer in room 451 than the one across the hall, but he’d heard Jessica’s voice, so he assumed his wife had briefly interrogated him. The man turned briefly to give the attendant a wave.
“I’m full. Be right back,” he said, pushing the cart to the end of the hallway.
The man pressed the elevator button and moved behind the cart, immediately pushing it into the elevator carriage. Daniel squinted almost imperceptibly, feeling that something was off. He hadn’t heard a chime, and the guy hadn’t paused for a moment before maneuvering into the elevator, almost like the door had already been open. But why would he press the button? Shit. He’d only do that to try to maintain some semblance of normal procedure—to keep Daniel from instantly reacting.
He burst out of his seat, holding Jessica’s purse, and sprinted toward the end of the hallway. By the time he reached the elevator, the brushed steel doors had been closed for a number of seconds, the hum and whir of the elevator machinery audible through the thick barrier. Responding out of desperate instinct, he tried to pry the doors open with his hand, just as quickly abandoning the futile attempt. An insistent voice from the opposite end of the hallway momentarily distracted him. The attendant had finally gotten off his ass and was heading in his direction—and he didn’t look happy. Fuck. He didn’t need any complications right now. Processing the information on hand, he made a few decisions and headed swiftly toward the attendant.
“Dave, I think they took my wife in the laundry cart!”
The man shook his head, continuing to approach. “Dude, nobody kidnapped your wife.”
“Check the room,” said Daniel. “Just do that for me.”
The guy broke into a lazy jog, clearly wanting to get to the room before Daniel. “I’ll check the room, but I need you to stand clear,” said the man, pointing a finger at him. “Then I need you out of here. Back in the main lobby. Security will walk you down.”
Daniel nodded, slowing his pace. “Thank you. Sorry to be like this, but we have reasons to be cautious.”
“Yeah. I bet you do,” said the man, pausing in front of room 451. “Stay right there, or security will do more than just walk you out of here.”
Daniel stopped several feet from the room, nodding his understanding. “Hurry.”
The man shook his head and rolled his eyes, stepping into the room. The instant he disappeared, Daniel drew the pistol out of the handbag and slung the bag’s handles over his shoulder, slipping into position right next to the door.
“Son of a bitch,” muttered the attendant, a touch of confusion in his voice.
Leading with the pistol, Daniel entered the room, finding the attendant fumbling with the handheld radio attached to his belt.
“Stop what you’re doing and raise your hands,” said Daniel.
The man let the radio hang half connected to his belt and put his hands up. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“What floor does Kevin take to offload his cart?”
“What?”
“You heard me,” said Daniel.
“S-two. Second subfloor.”
“Can I get there from the stairwell?”
The attendant thought about it for a little too long. “David, I need an answer right away,” said Daniel, shifting his aim to the man’s head.
The guy turned his head and lowered his hands in front of his face, a fairly natural reaction for untrained civilians when a firearm is pointed at their face.
“Jesus! You don’t have to point that at me,” he said, suddenly blurting an answer. “You can get there, but you’ll need an access card to open the door. My card doesn’t open any of the sublevel doors. Swear to God!”
Daniel snatched the radio off his belt with enough force to break the plastic clip barely keeping it in place.
“Sit on the couch and don’t move,” Daniel hissed, sliding next to Vesna’s bed to reach the nightstand.
The gruesome sight didn’t distract him. Daniel was single-mindedly focused on taking the steps necessary to save Jessica, and Vesna Erak’s dead body didn’t weigh into that equation. Every fraction of a second counted now. He ripped the phone on the nightstand out of its connection and tossed it on the other side of the bed. A quick scan of the room on his way out didn’t reveal an intercom system.
“I’m going to shut this door. If it opens and I’m still here, you’re a dead man. Understood?” he said, keeping the pistol aimed at David’s head.
The man nodded emphatically. “Understood.”
Daniel closed the door behind him and took off for the lobby. He could shoot his way through the sublevel door if necessary, or take a card from someone on the way down. One way or the other, he was getting through that door. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps when the service elevator chimed.
Coming to finish me off? Big
mistake.
He reversed direction and bolted for the end of the hallway, diving into position on the floor in front of the doors as they started to open. Steadying his aim from a prone position, the doors slowly peeled back, revealing the blue cart.
What the fuck?
“Daniel?” said a familiar voice from the elevator car. “It’s me, Munoz. We don’t have time to fuck around.”
Munoz? Sure as hell sounded like him. Sanderson must have sent a team to keep an eye on them. Fucking Sanderson!
“Show yourself,” said Daniel.
A head slowly appeared from the right side of the elevator, confirming Munoz’s identity. He was dressed in the same type of maroon hospital scrubs the kidnapper had worn. Daniel hopped to his feet and rushed into the elevator, frantically digging through the blood-splattered towels and linens. He looked up at Munoz while still tossing the cart.
“Where is she?”
“She’s out cold in a hidden compartment underneath the towels,” said Munoz, pressing S2 on the elevator panel. “Vitals are strong. She’s fine.”
“How the fuck do you get this open?”
Munoz grabbed his shoulder, forcefully pushing him back. “I need you to focus here. Jessica is going to be unconscious for a while. We’ll make sure she’s safe.”
Daniel knocked Munoz’s arm away and knelt next to the cart, examining the plastic bin as the elevator doors closed.
“There’s a plastic latch on the front right corner,” said Munoz.
He immediately located the latch and pulled it upward, releasing the door. Jessica lay crumpled inside, her head lolling on the base of the container. He placed his hand on her neck and felt for a pulse, finding it quickly. Slow but steady, definitely sedated. The elevator started to descend.
“We need to get her somewhere safe until she’s conscious. Then I’m flying her out of here,” said Daniel. “I assume you’re staying somewhere off the books?”
“We have a bigger problem,” said Munoz.
“I don’t care about your bigger problems,” said Daniel. “I have a plan to get her away from all of these problems. It was a mistake coming here.”
“You definitely fucked up,” said Munoz. “Almost got her killed.”
“Fuck you,” said Daniel, then he muttered, “And thank you.”
“Thank you?” said Munoz with an amused look. “Sanderson was right. You are going soft.”
Daniel rubbed his face and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He’d almost lost her. How careless and stupid. To get this close to escaping their previous lives and fuck it up so stunningly. Sanderson was right. He was getting soft, and it was time to walk away for good. Either he’d get them killed, or she’d get them killed, sooner or later. They’d had too many close calls lately. The only way their departure on La Ombra could have been timed better was if it had happened two weeks ago. They’d planned to permanently cut every communications tie to anyone in their past.
“You there?” Munoz prodded.
“Just thinking.”
“Well, here’s something to think about. Srecko Hadzic is alive and well, not too far away from here.”
“Hadzic? He died in a botched rescue attempt. I thought that was confirmed?” said Daniel, closing the hidden door.
“Apparently not,” said Munoz, pausing to listen to his earpiece.
Daniel shut the latch on the cart and stood up, studying the longtime Black Flag operative. Munoz’s face was a storybook of scars, the most recent addition visible on his forehead, just below his dense hairline. They’d both had close calls in Uruguay. Sanderson nearly lost the two remaining graduates of the first Black Flag class in the same operation. The operative responded to whatever message he’d received.
“We’re almost to S-two,” said Munoz, listening again.
“Copy,” he replied, hitting S3.
“Change of plans?”
“Always. Melendez found the van.”
“What are we dealing with here?” said Daniel.
“Our electronic surveillance team picked up some encrypted transmissions piggybacking the in-hospital signal-boosting system. They were able to pinpoint the location to the second subfloor, near this elevator. Melendez and I have been stashed in a closet on S-one for the past hour, waiting for the two of you to arrive.”
“GPS trackers on the cars at the airport?” said Daniel.
“And one sewn into the briefcase,” said Munoz. “We eliminated a two-man team waiting with a stretcher and body bag by the elevator on S-two just as the elevator started its return journey. The guy that pushed the cart onto one of the elevators never saw it coming. We weren’t sure if they had more men roaming around, so I pushed the cart back in and came straight back to you. Melendez located a van with a single driver waiting in the loading bay.”
“How do you know this is Hadzic?”
“We don’t, but the electronics team has already identified the guy that kidnapped Jessica as Dragan Ilic. He’s a Serbian-born contract killer, based out of New Jersey, with suspected ties to Serbian nationalists released by the tribunal. It’s only an assumption, but a fair one at this point.”
“Jessica and I made a lot of enemies there at the end. This could be anyone,” said Daniel.
Munoz pulled a smartphone from one of his pants pockets and showed Daniel the screen. “Recognize that?”
Daniel did. He had a faded version of it high on his right arm. A black panther head, the symbol of Srecko Hadzic’s infamous paramilitary group. If Hadzic was alive, he and Jessica would never be safe. Daniel had to end this tonight, once and for all.
“How much time do we have to put together a plan?” he asked.
“Little to none. Text messages going back and forth between phones indicate that Jessica is expected shortly.”
“Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting,” said Daniel. “How many operatives do we have for the operation?”
“You, me, and Melendez, plus the two electronics wizards.”
“Jesus,” muttered Daniel.
“I suspect He’s gonna steer clear of this one,” said Munoz as the elevator came to a stop at its destination.
Chapter 25
Crestwood Industrial Park
Crestwood, Illinois
Srecko Hadzic paced the concrete floor, drawing deeply on a cigarette. He wasn’t supposed to smoke them after the heart attack and had mostly given them up, but tonight he desperately needed his old friend nicotine. He was minutes away from fulfilling a long overdue promise made to himself and his precious nephew, Josif, who was so callously slaughtered by that viper of a whore.
He only wished the other traitor could be here to bear witness, but it had been deemed too risky to try to grab them both. That was fine by him. The traitor would get a bullet to the head like any traitor deserved, and the whore would get what a whore deserved. He was well supplied with heart medications and his little blue pills, everything he needed to make sure he could savor the next few days, and not only as a satisfied observer. No. Srecko planned to take this woman over and over again, cutting her eyelids open if necessary to make sure she had to endure his face on top of her.
“How long?” he demanded.
One of the men seated on a folding chair thumbed a message on his phone and waited a few seconds for a reply.
“About five minutes out.”
“And the whore is still alive?”
He sensed a flicker of insubordination, possibly a quickly halted eye roll, before the man sent another message. This newest breed of Panthers was pathetic compared to the dedicated and skilled men he’d commanded during the Yugoslav Wars. Few of these punks would have been worthy of consideration in the old Panthers, but like the old saying went, “beggars can’t be choosers.”
In Srecko’s situation, the phrase pretty much fit him literally. He’d come close to spending the last of the money he’d managed to keep hidden from the war crimes tribunal, paying for his escape and putting together this operation.
The lust for revenge was only a small part of why he’d gone to such careful and expensive lengths to capture the whore.
The Petroviches, as they now called themselves, had stolen close to one hundred and thirty million dollars from Srecko’s European accounts before they lit the spark that started a bloody civil war between the Panthers and Mirko Jovic’s Eagles, a war that essentially destroyed both groups and accelerated the fall of Milosevic’s regime. He was hell-bent on retrieving what was left of that money and had even convinced an old colleague to come out of hiding just for the occasion.
Mirko Jovic had disappeared during the brutal month of fighting between the Panthers and Eagles, rumored to have been killed in a coup attempt within the Eagles. Srecko had little reason to doubt the rumor, since his own paramilitary organization had come apart at the seams, factions turning on factions. Srecko held on to the bitter end, surviving the bloodbath, but Jovic had been the smarter of the two. While the rest of them clung desperately to their empires, while NATO bombers pounded the regular Yugoslavian forces into submission, he’d fled the country, taking his money with him.
Despite escaping with his life and money, Jovic still had an axe to grind with the whore and Marko Resja. Once again, a most literal interpretation. Jovic’s youngest daughter had been found beheaded in a Belgrade ditch on the outskirts of the city, supposedly last seen in the company of Zorana Zekulic. Srecko had always assumed that Marko Resja had killed both of them, only delivering Zorana’s head to him in that duffel bag. Years later in prison, when he discovered that Zorana had been in league with Resja all along, it suddenly made sense. They’d hacked Jovic’s daughter’s head off and passed it off as Zorana’s!
After his escape from the Hague Detention Unit, he got in touch with Jovic through an intermediary and negotiated a sit-down meeting to explain the depth of the deception that had led to the war between them. Srecko hadn’t done this out of a need to mend fences, he’d done it to raise capital for this operation and to recruit one of the most ruthless torturers in recent history. Jovic had a talent that made him indispensable to Milosevic. He could make anyone talk.
OMEGA: A Black Flagged Thriller (The Black Flagged Series Book 5) Page 14
