Kill on Command (47 page)

XIII

Answers

Dale City, Virginia

Monday Night

Pavel left the city and continued down I
-95, eventually exiting near Dale City.  He drove for several minutes and turned into an older neighborhood.  The houses were built in the late 1950’s.  Pavel pulled into the driveway of a modest ranch-style home.  The yard had recently been mowed and the trash cans sat neatly on the side of the house.  Pavel hit a button and the garage door opened.  He pulled the van into the garage and closed the door.

Sergei nudged Waters with his foot when the back doors opened.  Pavel grabbed Waters by the foot and pulled him out of the van. He did not catch him.  Waters fell out of the van and landed hard on the floor.  Pavel left him there. 

Waters knew he was going to die.  He understood everything being done to him was designed to put fear into his heart and get him to talk.  He had gone through the training to help him in just this situation.  He thought he could hold out.

Sergei and Sean exited the side of the van and moved over to Waters who was prone on the garage floor.  Sean glared at him.  He was still angry.  Make that beyond angry.  He wanted to lay into Waters.  He wanted to make him suffer.  Sergei grabbed Waters by the foot and dragged him across the filthy garage floor through old gasoline and oil stains and into the house.  He dropped him once inside the door on a thirty-year-old linoleum floor.  He opened another door that led to the basement.  He bent over and picked Waters up by the neck.

In Russian, Sergei said, “You can either walk down the stairs or I will drag you.”

Waters did not acknowledge him.  He didn’t understand Russian as well as he should have.  Sergei delivered a hard blow to Waters’ mid-section which brought him to his knees.

“Dragging it is.”  Sean watched as Sergei picked up Waters’ leg again and pulled him down the bare wooden stairs.  Waters went down, taking the brunt of the stairs with his ribs.  Sean followed right behind him.  Reaching the bottom, Sergei let go of Waters and let him lay on the cold damp floor.  Sean stepped over him and into the basement. 

The basement had an old, musty smell.  It was unfinished with cracks in the floor and walls.  It was a small space.  On one side was a dirty wash bin with a rusty, dripping faucet.  Adjacent, a peg-board was nailed to the basement wall above an old workbench.   A fluorescent light hung above the table.   The wood on top of the bench was well worn.  It was clear whoever had lived here spent a considerable amount of time in the basement building birdhouses, spice racks or something like that. 

In the center of the room was an old wooden chair sitting on top of a large square piece of plastic.  It faced the wall.   The workbench was directly behind it.

Sergei picked Waters up by the back of the shirt and pulled him over to the chair, cut the zip tie cuffs with a knife and pushed him into it.

“Secure him!” he ordered, pointing at Sean and throwing the cuffs on the floor.  On the table was a neat little pile of zip ties. Sean secured Waters arms and legs to the chair.  Sergei pulled the hood off of his head.  Waters blinked his eyes and tried to focus.  He had a large cut above his eye.  Sergei stood off to his left and Sean to his right.  Sean watched Pavel came down the stairs.  Pavel did not speak, but dropped a small, black bag on the workbench.  He took a seat on the third stair from the bottom, where he could see the whole room.

Sergei stared at Waters.  He did not speak.  So Waters did.

“Very impressive.”

No one responded.

“Now, I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement that doesn’t end with your death or imprisonment,” Waters said, trying to sound bolder than he felt.

Sergei had neither spoken nor averted his eyes from Waters.  He nodded at Pavel and was tossed a large yellow lemon.  Sergei caught it in his left hand and held it up for Waters to see, then held it between his thumb and middle finger.  Waters stopped talking.  He knew what was coming.

In Russian, he said to Sean, “Cut off his pants.”  He pointed at the workbench.  Sergei was now holding the lemon on his palm still staring at Waters.  Sean picked up a pair of sheers and began cutting off Waters’ pants.  He ran the sharp sheers up both sides of his legs. Then like he was pulling a cloth off a table full of plates, yanked them off.  He threw them on the floor.  Waters instantly felt more vulnerable.  He still thought there was a chance he would get out of this.  A small chance.

“My Russian is rusty, would you mind going back to English?”  Waters asked.  Sergei ignored him.

“Your knives. Bring them here,” Sergei said to Sean.  Pavel handed them to Sean who took them and stood next to Sergei.

“Cut him.  Not too deep,” Sergei commanded.

Sean stood in front of Waters and looked down at him.  He held a knife in each hand.  Waters stared up at him and decided to throw a Hail Mary.

“Ted Williams hit .406 in 1941,” Waters said, suddenly. 

Simultaneously, Pavel jumped to his feet, pulled a gun and leveled it at Sean.  Sergei and Pavel knew the trigger words and were prepared if Waters tried to turn Sean against them.  However, Sean had already begun moving.  He spun the knives in his hands, gripped them and drove both of them through Waters’ left and right inner thighs and all the way into the wooden chair.  Waters let out a piecing scream.   Sean left the knives in his legs and then put his hands on Waters’ arms that were secured to the chair and looked into the face of the screaming man.

In English, Sean whispered, “That was for my friend.  I am going to skin you alive if they let me.  You had better hope they don’t leave me alone with you.”

Sean looked at Sergei.  “Let me know when it’s my turn!”  Sean could feel the anger coursing through his veins. His face was hot.  He felt the only release would be via the slaughter of Waters.  He was now over the edge and needed to be reeled back in.

Sergei motioned for Pavel to put the gun away.  Pavel sat back down.

“I think you have had your turn Sean, and that’s too deep.”  Sergei said, sarcastically, referring to the knife wounds. 

Sean walked over and sat on the steps next to Pavel. Sergei pulled both of the knives out of Waters’ legs.  Waters screamed again.  Blood was pooling on the chair.  Not much, but some.  Sean had purposely not hit any arteries, just the fatty portion of Waters’ legs. Sergei made small cuts on Waters left leg.  A bit of blood appeared.  Waters squirmed, but Sean had tied him securely.  Sergei placed one of the knives back on the workbench.

“Sorry,” Pavel whispered in Russian to Sean.  Sean didn’t respond.

Once again, Sergei showed the lemon to Waters and began cutting it into small slices.  He placed all but one slice on the workbench.  He came around and showed it to Waters.  Waters was still obvious in pain from the knife wounds.  Sergei held the lemon slice over Waters’ leg and squeezed.  The juice hit the raw, open skin and Waters began screaming once again. 

Switching back to English, Sergei began his questions.

“Who authorized this?” 

Waters paused.  He saw no reason to protect anyone.

“George Price.”

Sergei knew who was responsible, but didn’t acknowledge Waters’ reply.

“Higher?” he asked.

“No.  Price sees the director as a soft old fool.  Price had me working the program in the dark.  He hid the funding.  No one at the agency knew about the program but Price and me.” 

“The people who worked for you?”

“People I blackmailed and who were forced to join me.”

Like Ana, Sergei thought.

“The others were mercenaries,” Waters added.

“I want the details on everyone involved in this.”

“It’s all in my briefcase.  The papers.  You grabbed them at the hotel.”

“Where is Price? He will need to answer for this.”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you like another lemon?”

Waters shook his head.

“He has a place in Florida.  Daytona.  He will try to flee the country, but he will go there first.”

“Why?”

“He keeps all of his private records down there.  He has the goods on everyone.  Plus, he has stolen quite a bit of money.  It is hidden there.”

“The doctor?”  Sergei asked next.

“Seamus McFarland.”

“And where is he?” 

“Argentina.  He took off when he saw things going south.”

“Well that’s an appropriate place for him,” Sean said from the steps. 

Waters kept talking.  He always told himself that if he was ever captured, he could hold out.  In reality, he lasted less than ten minutes.

“I have no loyalty to Price.  He sent a team after me last night.  I lost them.”

Sergei looked back at Waters.

“What team?”

“A bunch of nobodies,” Waters added, unaware that George Price had put a contract out on him.

In Russian, Sergei asked, “Pavel is that tracking device still active?”

“No,” Pavel said, without hesitation.

“Did you pat him down when we threw him in the van?”

“Yes.  He was clean,” Pavel responded.

“Please check the van,” Sergei asked.  Pavel ran up the stairs.  He went into the garage and searched the van.  He was satisfied until he caught a glimpse of something blinking from under the front seat.  He scrambled up to the front and found the cell phone.  He cursed in Russian as he removed the battery. 

Several miles away, three men watched the signal disappear, but they already had the address.  They pulled over behind a Roy Rogers and began prepping their gear.

Sergei and Sean didn’t speak.  Sergei kept staring at Waters.  Waters tried to match his cold, icy glare, but couldn’t.  He knew he would be dead in the next ten minutes.

Finally Waters spoke.  He had to get in a dig.

“By the way, it was Price that ordered the killing of the Pittsburgh cop.” 

Sean stood, took the second knife off of the workbench and stepped towards Waters.  Sergei put his hand in the middle of Sean’s chest and stopped him.  Sean looked down at Sergei’s hand and then back up into his eyes.  For a split second, Sergei panicked.  This was what Ana warned him about.  He could feel the young man’s rage.  Could he stop Sean?  Sergei turned to Waters.  Sean took a few steps back.

Pavel came back down the stairs.
 

In
rapid Russian he said, “His phone was under the front seat.  It must have fallen out.  We need to wrap this up.”

Sergei took a breath and let it out slowly.  He was disappointed.  He wanted more time with Waters.  Missing the phone was a major mistake; he knew the phone could be tracked via GPS.  A group of commandos could be here any minute.

“How many like him?” Sergei asked, gesturing at Sean.

“Just two left.  You met the other one at the hotel.  His name is Oscar Pasco.”

“Tell me about him.” 

“He is a sociopath, driven totally by personal gain.  No sense of right or wrong.  Plagued by addiction.  Gambling, drugs.  He was practically living in a Detroit casino when we found him.”

“Sounds a little like you.  The sociopath bit at least,” Sean said.

“I did what I need to do to protect this country!”  Waters shouted at Sean.