OMEGA: A Black Flagged Thriller (The Black Flagged Series Book 5)

by Steven Konkoly

  Srecko held up his hands. “Well? Are you going to answer me?”

  “He’s still typing,” said the soldier.

  “I’m not paying him to type a fucking novel!” yelled Srecko. “Dial his number and give me the damn phone.”

  The man pressed a button and handed him the phone. Srecko put the phone to his ear.

  “Hello? Is she still alive or what? I’m not paying you to deliver a cadaver. I can buy a sex doll for about a thousand times less than your fee.”

  “You’re really going to regret saying that,” replied a gravelly voice in Serbian.

  For a brief moment, he thought Dragan had gone rogue, suspecting that the hit man had somehow discovered the value of Srecko’s remaining fortune and decided to extort more money out of him. He always assumed that a conspiracy or double-cross was in the works and that everyone was out to get him. That was how he stayed one step ahead of these jackals. A fleeting thought, the memory of that voice hit him like a sledgehammer. Dragan had somehow failed. He dropped the cigarette.

  Srecko cleared his throat. “Marko?”

  The men around him stiffened, looking to him for guidance. A few preemptively stood, readying their weapons. Mirko Jovic sat in the corner of the warehouse office, apparently unmoved by the mention of the name.

  “In the flesh. Well, I’m not there yet, but I’m getting close. Your guys really shouldn’t put important locations in their navigation systems. It’s almost too easy.”

  Srecko motioned with his empty hand for the men to leave, pressing the phone against his chest to muffle any sound.

  “Something went wrong at the hospital. We’re out of here,” Srecko whispered to Obrad, the man in charge of his security detail.

  “We’ll be out of here in thirty seconds,” said Obrad, turning to the men.

  As his crew piled out of the office, he glanced toward Jovic, who remained unmoved in the corner, sipping what had to be the tenth coffee made with the Krups machine he’d insisted Srecko provide.

  “Are you coming or what?” said Srecko.

  One of Jovic’s security guards started to get up, but the former paramilitary leader put a hand on the guard’s shoulder.

  “I’ll take my chances in here,” said Jovic.

  “You’ll die in here,” said Srecko, rushing to the office door. “He’s coming.”

  “He might already be here,” said Jovic.

  The statement stopped Srecko in his tracks. He gave Jovic’s comment a quick thought, glancing between the dozen men running for the vehicles inside the warehouse and the three men seated in the office. He’d take his chances with the larger group. He put the phone back up to his ear.

  “Hello? Did you have another heart attack?” Marko Resja taunted.

  “Fuck you!” he spat into the phone. “I’ll fucking kill you and that whore no matter what it takes. You’ll never be safe!”

  “Don’t get your heart all worked up, Srecko. I wasn’t all that impressed with that hospital,” said Resja. “Speaking of unimpressed, where did you find that joke, Dragan? I hope you didn’t give him a down payment. I don’t think you can afford to throw money away like that.”

  Srecko threw the phone against the warehouse floor, scattering plastic pieces in several directions.

  “Three vehicles. All SUVs. Four men to a vehicle. You’re with me in the middle vehicle!” he yelled to his security chief, the last sentence fading to a grunt as the pain in his chest became unbearable.

  While Obrad organized the men, Srecko dug under his collar and pulled a gold chain necklace out of his shirt. He feverishly worked the cylindrical gold pill fob hanging from the chain until he’d retrieved one of the nitroglycerine pills he kept for chest pain emergencies. The rest of the pills fell to the floor. He only needed one! With a trembling hand, he forced the pill into his mouth, under his tongue. Unable to draw more than a short gasp of air, he stood frozen several feet from the loaded vehicles.

  Obrad rushed over and escorted him into the backseat of the middle SUV while the tall warehouse door slowly opened. His breathing had eased by the time the line of vehicles had reached the sliding gate fifty yards in front of the warehouse. The effects of the nitroglycerine were finally kicking in.

  “Get us as far the fuck away from here as possible,” he ordered.

  The wide, reinforced chain-link gate ambled along its track, seemingly making little progress.

  “As soon as they can fit through, they go,” he barked, not wanting to spend a single moment longer than necessary in the open.

  Obrad relayed the order, and the first SUV edged closer to the gate.

  Chapter 26

  Crestwood Industrial Park

  Crestwood, Illinois

  Daniel lay as flat as he could manage behind the motor unit opening the chain-link gate. The long, six-inch-high concrete platform holding the motor in place gave his legs just enough concealment to remain unseen. He hoped. As the trucks’ headlights swept the fence line and the gate and tendrils of bright light poked through the motor housing, he felt entirely exposed. When the gate rumbled to life and he could see right into the driver’s side window of the first SUV, there was no question about it. He was exposed. Staying hidden for several more seconds was critical to their hastily assembled plan.

  Munoz was hidden in a patch of scrub next to the fence, twenty yards on the other side of the gate, outside of the facility. Ideally he would be inside the fence line to engage the rear vehicle, but their surveillance team didn’t have enough time to analyze the warehouse’s electronic security signature. A few wireless motion or disturbance detectors hidden along the perimeter could trash the element of surprise. They had their hands full with something more important and impactful.

  The team had hijacked the remote control signal for the gate motor, and Petrovich had reached through the gate and snipped the wires powering the automatic motion sensor inside. Under normal circumstances, when the vehicles pulled up to the gate from the inside, the gate would automatically open. Access from the outside required a paired remote control. According to the techs, control of the gate was solely in their hands. Of course, none of this could be tested prior to the vehicles’ arrival, but it seemed to have worked. Unless he’d cut the wrong wires and the motion sensor was still operational.

  Even if the trick didn’t work, it wouldn’t matter. They could pound the trucks with bullets and sniper fire until everything was quiet. He’d lose the opportunity to return Srecko to prison, where he’d most certainly be held without possibility of release, but that was a price he was more than willing to pay. Just knowing he was gone would be satisfaction enough.

  He watched the gate roll slowly past the stones he had set in the road. When the rollers passed the second of four rocks, he triggered his radio.

  “Stand by to engage,” he whispered.

  No response followed. They had checked and rechecked the communications just prior to the warehouse door opening. He was passing information to Melendez, who lay on top of the warehouse a hundred or so yards beyond Daniel. The rollers passed the third rock.

  “Stand by. Stand by.” The rollers reached the fourth rock, where he’d calculated the vehicles would be able to squeeze through. “Fire!”

  The lead vehicle lurched through the opening in the gate, and Daniel pressed the suppressed MP-7’s trigger, sending several 4.6mm bullets through the driver’s window. Before he could fire again, a supersonic crack snapped overhead, Melendez’s bullet hopefully taking out the driver of the second SUV. Daniel’s second burst peppered the rear driver’s side window and upper door. The SUV continued past the gate, the driver’s foot stuck on the accelerator. He’d anticipated this possibility.

  “Munoz, switch targets with Melendez.”

  The entire motor housing unit shook next to him as the second SUV lurched to a stop halfway through the gate. The surveillance team had reversed the gate in time to catch the second vehicle’s rear driver’s side door, halting its forward motion and pre
ssing it against the opposite gate post. The door dented inward with the continuing pressure, trapping the rear passengers. Daniel fired a quick burst through the already shattered driver’s window at the head of a man yelling in the front passenger seat, instantly silencing him.

  Staccato bursts of suppressed gunfire echoed across the road from Munoz’s position, repeatedly striking the unobserved side of the lead vehicle with hollow, metallic thumps until it finally slowed.

  “Melendez?” Daniel said.

  “I got one more fucker playing hide-and-seek behind the last vehicle.”

  “Munoz?”

  “All quiet in the lead vehicle,” Munoz replied. “I have some frantic movement in the backseat of the middle truck. Watch yourself. I don’t have a good angle on them.”

  Neither did Daniel, and he wasn’t keen on raising his head above the motor unit. He reloaded the MP-7 and waited for the standoff at the rear vehicle to play out. Srecko wasn’t going anywhere. A supersonic crack was followed by a report.

  “Rear vehicle neutralized. Want me to put a round through the back of Srecko’s SUV?”

  “That would be kind of you,” said Daniel, still flinching when the bullet passed several feet above him, shattering the SUV’s cargo compartment window.

  “Srecko!” said Daniel.

  Gunfire erupted from the backseat, bullets pinging off the fence and motor. Daniel pressed himself into the hard dirt until the fusillade ended.

  “I can see right into the backseat now. Srecko is leaned up against the passenger-side door, grasping his chest. There’s one other guy in back with him, staying low. Probably reloading.”

  “Can you hit the gunman low through the door?” Daniel asked.

  “Bravo units, this is control. I have multiple 911 calls reporting gunfire coming from the Crestwood Industrial Park. Average response time for this department is five minutes and thirty-three seconds. We’ll need another minute or two to get clear of the area. Not a lot of traffic around here at night.”

  “Copy that, control. Good job on the gate, by the way,” said Daniel. “Munoz, hit the backseat with a full mag. Melendez, confirm the results.”

  Munoz’s MP-7 chattered first, followed by Daniel’s, each of them methodically firing short burst after short burst into the rear passenger area. Sixty bullets—total overkill for the situation.

  “They’re gone,” said Melendez. “Heading toward primary pickup.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Daniel, picking himself off the ground.

  He ran cautiously past the lead SUV, seeing four heads lolling at unnatural angles. The surveillance team’s passenger van appeared in the distance, driving toward the warehouse used by Melendez. Daniel slowed long enough for Munoz to catch up, and they took off for the van.

  Chapter 27

  Crestwood Industrial Park

  Crestwood, Illinois

  Mirko Jovic stayed seated inside the office until the gunfire ended with a dramatic crescendo. Srecko’s final stand.

  “Should we go, Mr. Jovic?” asked one of his security men.

  “Give it a minute to be sure,” said Jovic. “I suggest you grab a cup of coffee and a few of those snack bars they have stashed in the cabinets.”

  “Coffee?”

  “My guess is we’re not driving out of here,” said Jovic. “It’s going to be a long night on foot getting back to the hotel.”

  “I’ll start scouting a location to cut the fence behind the warehouse,” offered the guard. “We have a pair of bolt cutters in the truck.”

  “Patience, Goran. You can’t reach the truck without exposing yourself to that vast wide open. We leave when the sirens start. Whoever’s out there will be gone by then.”

  “Of course, Mr. Jovic,” said the guard, settling back into his seat.

  “I’m serious about the coffee and snack bars,” said Jovic. “The hotel is several miles from here and we’re not stopping until we get there. Not even for your beloved Long John Silver’s or Wendy’s.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” said Jovic, mildly annoyed. “Why do you need to eat again, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. Bored.”

  “Good. Let’s hope this stays boring,” said Jovic. “If it stays that way until we get back to the hotel, I’ll treat us to Denny’s. It’s open twenty-four hours.”

  The prospect of Denny’s seemed to cheer up his sullen crew. He understood why they were disappointed. He felt the same way, though for a different reason. While the guards were justifiably let down by the loss of the sex toy they had so eagerly awaited, something far more important had just slipped through Jovic’s fingers. A rare and likely once-in-a-lifetime chance to exact revenge against the snake that had lured his precious Mira into that murderer’s trap. The thought of what had happened to his daughter dropped a crushing weight of sadness on him. And anger. The Styrofoam cup trembled in his hand.

  Jovic pounded the last of the lukewarm coffee and set the cup on the floor. He considered taking the cup and his fingerprints with him, but there was no point. There was no way he could wipe down every surface he might have touched in here. Fucking Srecko. He should have known the guy would fuck this up. The fat slob was a shell of the man he used to be. At least he’d served one final purpose.

  The faint whistling sound of a faraway siren arose.

  “I think it’s time,” said Jovic.

  While his men rushed to the remaining SUV to retrieve the gear they would need to cut their way out of the perimeter, Jovic walked slowly to the warehouse door, peeking outside. The volume of bullet holes in Srecko’s convoy indicated that Resja hadn’t been alone. This had been the work of a highly trained and well-coordinated team, not something their target had thrown together at the last second. There was more to Resja these days than met the eye. Something Srecko had failed to discover, and he’d died horribly because of it.

  The dim red glow of distant taillights penetrated the darkness between rows of warehouse buildings. Resja and company, no doubt. His fists clenched. So damn close! He took a deep breath and exhaled, releasing his hands. Maybe there was hope. If that idiot Srecko could find the Petroviches, so could he. The sirens grew louder, their echoes bouncing off the surrounding warehouses. The taillights disappeared, and Jovic turned to his men. They had a long night ahead of them.

  Chapter 28

  Georgetown

  Washington, D.C.

  Karl Berg savored the last bite of the short ribs swirled in butternut squash puree. Perfect every time. He set his fork down on the bottom right corner of the plate next to the knife, tidily arranging them in the 11 o’clock position. He was officially done with the main course.

  “You’re eating like somebody’s chasing you.”

  Darryl Jackson cut into his halibut with a fork, a slight faux pas in a restaurant like this, and swirled the detached piece around in the sauce on his plate before eating it.

  “A hard habit to break,” said Berg, purposely leaning back in his chair and sipping a glass of red wine. “Is that better?”

  “It’s a start. You’ve been making me nervous the whole meal,” said Jackson. “Makes me think twice about eating out in public with you.”

  “Even if I’m paying?”

  “Especially if you’re paying,” said Jackson. “I have two kids in college. If you’re footing the bill for a two-hundred-dollar bottle of Ceretto Barolo, I don’t want to feel like we need to chug straight from the bottle to finish it. I get whatever they serve at Applebee’s, if I’m not drinking it at home. Did I mention I have kids in college?”

  “It may have come up a few hundred times,” said Berg, taking a generous sip of the exquisite wine. He felt himself loosen a little.

  “See? Doesn’t that feel better?” said Jackson, cutting another piece of fish.

  Berg’s eyes diverted to the plate. A third of his fish still remained. They’d be here all night.

  “That’s right,” said Jackson, smiling. “You better settle in w
ith that glass of wine. My ass isn’t going anywhere fast.”

  “You’re on a business trip. You don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Bingo. That’s the concept you need to start embracing. When you have nowhere to be and nobody telling you what to do, you need to be able to stop and smell the proverbial roses or it’s going to be a long-ass retirement. How’s that going, by the way? You’ve been awfully quiet about it.”

  “I’m waiting for the right time,” said Berg.

  “Uh-huh,” replied Jackson with a raised eyebrow.

  Berg looked around again.

  “Can you please stop doing that?” said Jackson. “You do know they have more sophisticated methods of eavesdropping these days. The old hand to the ear right when you’re about to say something important method went out of style a few hundred years ago.”

  “Very funny,” said Berg.

  “It’s bad enough I have to put up with your daily check-ins.”

  “I just want to make sure they know I’m not a threat before I leave.”

  “Who? The new idiots in charge of this town?” said Jackson, keeping his voice the same volume.

  Berg couldn’t stop himself from starting to scan the room.

  “You’re doing it again. Trust me. You’re not the only CIA employee to retire with some serious secrets lodged up there,” said Jackson, pointing his fork at Berg’s head. “Have any of your former retired colleagues vanished or died unexplainably?”

  Berg shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

  “Exactly. They’re all professors at colleges. Working for think tanks. Advising corporations. All kinds of cushy stuff. Some of them might even be sitting on their asses, retired. Imagine that,” said Jackson, holding the last piece of his dinner up with his fork. “All you have to do is follow your own advice. Keep your head down, don’t make any waves, slowly fade into the background.”