Kill on Command (2 page)

“The Indians won the World Series in 1948,” the same voice said.  Again flat.  No inflection.

“Go on,” he said. 

He listened for two minutes and hung up.  He rose, took off his shirt, slipped off his sandals and removed his pants.  He was clad only in tight black compression shorts.  He left the lights off, then pushed the curtains to the side followed by the sliding door and closed it behind him, but did not lock it.  In front of him there was a small walkway and then the beach.  Sprinting across the walkway, he continued running all the way up to the water’s edge and focused on a point on the horizon.  He was no longer just a guy enjoying a meal in a great hotel.  He was now an assassin.

On a small boat, a sniper watched him from a distance with binoculars in hand.  The sniper put the binoculars down, turned and picked up a CheyTac 408 rifle.  It was fitted with a starlight night vision scope. The rifle was accurate up to 1400 meters.  If needed, tonight’s shot would be a quarter of that distance.  Shooting from a boat bobbing up and down in the ocean was tough, but the sniper had had plenty of practice.  The sniper looked through the scope and turned.  The passengers of the Scimitar were visible in the distance.

Leaving the lights of the hotel behind him, the assassin jumped into the surf and pushed through the water until he had to swim.  The water was cool, but he didn’t notice.  A small zodiac was floating eight hundred meters directly in front of him.  He grabbed the side and pulled himself up and into the zodiac.  The small black craft was equipped with an outboard motor designed to run silently.  Inside the zodiac was a large waterproof bag.  He opened it, took out a can of black body paint and smeared it across this face, legs, chest and arms. Inside the bag was a cache of weapons.  Two Beretta Px4 Storm pistols. The short recoil 9mm semiautomatic pistol weighted just over a pound and accommodated a ten-round magazine.  He had three clips for each.  Two Swedish knives known as the “Garm” were also in the bag.   They were black, razor sharp, double sided blades designed to cause maximum damage.   The handles were large enough for him to wrap his fist around.  The knives were aptly named.  The “Garm” in Norse mythology, was the bloodstained dog that was charged with guarding the gates of hell – not a creature you want to meet in a dark alley.  The mythological dog shared several characteristics with the man strapping the knives to his legs. Lastly, he pulled a tomahawk axe out and attached it to his back via a strap.  Like the knives, it was razor sharp.

The assassin glanced at his watch as the zodiac bobbed up and down with each passing wave.  Pinpointing the yacht on the horizon, he got ready to move.

Ahmed found Faisal standing on the deck of the ship looking at the ocean.  “Faisal, we need to remove these women.  The Prince is done with them. Have you made arrangements on shore?  Their very presence sickens me.”

“Yes, a van will pick them up and drop them off behind the J.W. Marriott,” Faisal replied. 

“Excellent, get one of your men.  I am certain we will need to carry some,” Ahmed ordered.  He was certain he had not given too much of the drug to the women.  Too much would kill them.  From the sounds that echoed throughout the ship, the dosage had been correct.  He stepped onto the
Crescent
for the trip to the marina.

Faisal walked downstairs towards the guest bedrooms. The wood paneling on the walls was rich and warm.  The feeling throughout the ship was anything but.  Twenty feet in front of him, Ali, walked out of a bedroom tucking his shirt in, his jacket in hand.  He straightened his hair when he saw his boss.  He knew Faisal did not approve.  Faisal stopped and glared at him.

“You and the others take the women to the
Crescent
,” he ordered and turned to return to the deck.

“Some of them are unconscious,” Ali answered.  Faisal glared at him, barely able to hide his disgust.

“That’s your problem.  Carry them!  I will see you on the
Crescent
.  You will accompany me and Ahmed,” Faisal ordered.  His men followed shortly.  The women could barely walk.  Their dresses were torn.  They had been beaten.  None spoke and they all kept their heads down.  Ali kicked the last woman onto the deck of the
Crescent
.  She fell on her face.  Faisal had had enough.  He grabbed Ali by the collar.

“Pick her up!” he growled, yanking Ali off his feet.

“Why?  She is an infidel.  Not worthy of respect.”  Faisal pushed him back and picked up the woman himself.  Her face was beginning to swell and he could see red welts on her back through the torn gown.  He sat her down on a chair on the deck and turned to Ali.

“You sit out here with them.  You do not touch her again,” Faisal ordered.  He gave the crew the nod to head back to Cannes.  He left two bodyguards and the remaining crewmembers on the
Scimitar
.  He was certain the Prince was sleeping soundly.  The boat slowly separated from the larger yacht. 

Bridgette heard the bodyguards, but was not quick enough to make it onto the smaller ship. She had hidden too long.  She watched it move towards the east from the door leading to the deck.  She was shaking and realized she was trapped.  In the distance, she thought she saw a little raft floating in the water, but it was so dark, she could not be sure.

Three hundred meters to the east the assassin looked at his watch.  It was 3 A.M.  He could see the two remaining bodyguards lounging on the uppermost deck of the
Scimitar
.  They were facing the bow.  He did not see any other movement on the ship.  He placed one of the Beretta pistols in a rubber shoulder holster.  As instructed, he started the outboard motor and silently rode the waves to the stern of the
Scimitar
.  He tied off the zodiac and looked up at the massive ship.  Reaching into the duffel, he produced a rubber-encased grappling hook attached to a black climbing rope and tossed the hook up and over the ship’s railing, where it silently attached itself to the rail. He quickly and effortlessly pulled himself up.  Hanging from the rope, he stopped just short of the deck and peered over the edge.  Nothing.  All he could hear was the sound of the ocean in the distance and the two bodyguards laughing about their evening.

He vaulted onto the deck and made his way to a staircase leading to the upper deck.

Vengeance had arrived. 

On a modest fishing boat five hundred meters away, the sniper watched through a high-powered scope and followed the assassin’s progress across the ship.

The assassin silently climbed the stairs, but stopped short of the top, listened and looked over the edge of the top stair.  Both guards sat with their backs to him, less than twenty feet in front of him. He silently approached, pulled out the tomahawk and held it by his left side. 

The guards had no idea he was there.  They were too busy bragging about their sexual exploits.

The sniper behind the scope smiled.  These people were going to get what was coming to them. 

Taking a breath, the assassin stood directly behind the bodyguard on the left and swung the axe with tremendous force into the side of the man’s neck, nearly decapitating him.  The bodyguard slumped in the chair and fell forward.  The axe was buried in his neck to the spine, blood from his severed arteries sprayed into the air.  The bodyguard on the right jumped and reached with his right hand for his shoulder holster and his gun.  He did not have a chance to draw the weapon. 

The assassin was too fast. 

The assassin pulled a knife and with blinding speed drove the Garm through the man’s hand as he reached for the gun and into his chest.  The knife missed his heart, but it was a mortal wound.  The guard’s hand was pinned to his chest by the knife.  The assassin removed the guard’s gun, and pointed it at him.  He was paralyzed with pain.  His mouth was open, but no words came out.  He looked up at the assassin.  What he saw was a huge man clad all in black with cold blue eyes.

The assassin trained the weapon on the wounded guard, took the second Garm out of the sheaf, tossed the gun away and leaned forward.  He held the point of the knife close to the guard’s eye.

In Arabic, the assassin asked, “Where is the Prince?”   The bodyguard hesitated.  With one quick stroke, the assassin hacked off his right ear with the knife.  The guard screamed.

He continued in Arabic, “I’ll ask again.  Where is the Prince?”  The response was again too slow.  The guard lost another ear.  No more ears.  He then placed the blade of the knife above the guard’s eyes and slowly made a deep cut across his forehead to the bone.  Blood began running into the guard’s eyes.

The bodyguard screamed, “The bow!  The bow!  He has the whole bow!  Two floors down!” 

The assassin wiped both sides of the knife off on the guard’s arm and placed it back in the sheaf.

The assassin reached down and removed the axe from neck of the other guard, then with one powerful stroke, buried the axe in the remaining guard’s head.  He left the axe protruding from the man’s head, drew his Beretta and moved towards the lower decks.

Behind the scope, the sniper grimaced.  We wanted it personal.  We wanted it bloody.  We got it.

The assassin made his way down two flights of stairs.  He stopped at each landing, looked and listened.  The Prince’s bedroom indeed took up a good portion of the ship.  The staircase ended twenty feet from the master bedroom door.  He slowly made his way down the hall.  He stopped again and listened.  He could hear the rhythmic breathing of the Prince.  He pushed open the door, putting the Beretta in the shoulder holster.  The light from the adjacent bathroom illuminated the Prince’s face.  The thick carpeting in the room felt good on the assassin’s bare feet as he calmly walked to the side of the bed.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the bed.  Under normal circumstances, he would have been terrified of the image in the mirror.  This was not a normal circumstance.

The Prince was sleeping flat on his back.  Expensive, satin, ivory sheets covered the bed and the Prince.  He did not know it but he would be waking up at the gates of hell.

The assassin sat on the edge of the bed.  The Prince was to his left.  With his right hand, he removed the remaining knife and held it in his right hand.  He whispered to the Prince, who did not stir.  He moved the knife to his left hand and held it back like a spear and pushed the Prince with his right hand.

“Who . . .” the Prince uttered, as he sat straight up in bed.  The brutal force of the Garm met his left eye.  It pierced his eye and entered his brain.  He fell back onto the bed.  He was dead before his head hit the pillow.

The assassin left the knife protruding from the Prince’s face.  He made his way to the stern of the yacht and was met halfway by two members of the crew.  He pulled the Beretta and cut them down before they could utter a word.  He stepped over the bodies and continued towards the stern, dropping the gun at their feet.  He moved onto the deck and made his way to the rope. 

Bridgette heard the thunderous shots. 

Five hundred meters away, the sniper, quietly watching, reported “Target eliminated. Ahmed was not on the yacht.  Orders?” The sniper did not look up from the scope.

“Observe only,” a voice on the other end answered.  The connection then went dead.  The sniper sighed and immediately started breaking down the rifle.  The boat started and headed towards Cannes.

The assassin quickly descended to the waiting zodiac.  He gave the rope a tug and the grappling hook detached from the ship and fell into the water.  He started the motor and moved away from the ship. 

Bridgette watched him.

It was 3:15 A.M.  The assassin rode the waves five hundred meters from the ship and stopped.  The zodiac silently bobbed up and down on the water.  He pulled off the shoulder holster, placed it at his feet, removed the knife sheaves and placed them on the floor of the boat.  Reaching into the bag he took a towel out and began to clean off the black body paint.  Satisfied, he picked up the second Beretta from the bag, aimed the weapon at the sides of the zodiac and emptied the magazine into the boat.  It immediately took on water.  He stood in the middle of the boat until it began to sink.  The boat disappeared beneath the water as he began swimming towards the lights of Cannes. He had an eight hundred meter swim in front of him. 

The
Crescent
was making its way back to the
Scimitar.
  Ahmed was exhausted.  He knew the Prince would be up early and would demand he be ready as well.