The Kasparov Agenda (Omega Ops Legion Book 1) (25 page)

Parked in close proximity to the bank, a truck revved to life upon receiving Scorcher’s dispatch...

Coincidentally, the walkie talkie Varick had with him began to buzz, moments after Scorcher used his. “Varick, come in.”

Varick stepped away from the chatter of the police to answer the call. “Yeah, I’m here, Finch.” On the roof, Arthur Finch was their eyes and was keeping communication with Varick.

“I see something coming. A truck...a
big
truck... It bypassed the roadblocks...”

Varick could faintly hear the rumbling. The police were taking down notes and gathering information from the hostages. Morring was at the center of it, trying to keep everyone calm and keep things running smoothly. Varick pushed through the crowd to reach Morring. He nudged his arm to get the captain’s attention. “Little busy here, Varick,” he said, without looking up from his notebook.

Varick ignored his shooing away. “Morring, are you expecting any reinforcements? More police?”

Morring stopped writing and turned to face Varick, slightly annoyed. “No... What are you on about?” Varick’s eyes narrowed. He turned and began to walk towards the road. He stopped on the sidewalk. Morring was behind him and followed his gaze. He could see it now too... Off in the distance...coming up the street. Traffic had been blocked off by police, but nevertheless, a large vehicle could be seen driving towards the
m...and it was picking up tremendous speed.
Morring stared. “What is this...”

Varick held the walkie to his mouth: “Finch, take it down
now
,
TAKE IT DOWN
!”

Arthur opened fire on the vehicle.
His sniper rounds were
bouncing off the vehicle’s armor
. He managed to put a few rounds in the tires, but the vehicle was still moving smoothly. “Shit…” Arthur put down his rifle. “Varick, it’s bullet proof. And the tires gotta be some sort of heavy-grade composite run-flats.”

Varick dropped his walkie and turned to the crowd. “
Everyone, get to cover!
” he bellowed. The police and hostages looked at him, bewildered. Varick wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew it was nothing good.

The armored truck barrelled down the road and hopped the curb, driving straight at the bank. Morring rushed to his squad car to retrieve his megaphone. “Take out that truck! Open fire, OPEN FIRE!” The truck continued to pick up speed.

“It’s no good, Morring!” Varick yelled.

Police began to fire upon the vehicle. The pinging of bullets could be heard as they bounced off the truck’s armor plating. A narrow metal slide on the side of the truck opened, and the barrels of two rocket launchers peeked out. Inside the truck, Gregory Pike and Ulysses Frost aimed their armaments. Pike grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”

“Get behind the swat van!” Morring yelled to the hostages. The rockets flew in and blew up two squad cars. The men and women outside the bank scrambled for their lives.

“Reload!” Another two rockets were fired. They were clearing a path. The armored truck was now directly in line with the bank doors. It rammed past police vehicles and drove up the steps…

Bruce could hear the explosions coming from outside the walls of the bank. With both hands, he grabbed Scorcher by the neck and thrust him into the wall. “
What
did you do?!” he snarled. Scorcher simply smiled at him. He punched him across the face, knocking Scorcher to the floor. “ANSWER ME!”

Scorcher’s face was pressed against the tile. He lifted his head, just enough for Bruce to once again see that stupid smile of his. “Why don’t you go look for yourself?”

The armored truck had smashed through the front doors of the bank. The officers by the entrance cleared out to avoid being run over. Police had already damaged the doors when breaching them with the battering ram. The truck was the icing on the cake that tore the doors clean off their hinges. Lee, the truck driver, pulled the wheel to a hard right and slammed the brakes. The truck swerved to a stop in the middle of the bank, in-between the police forces and Tony’s men. Ulysses Frost picked out new toys from inside the truck:
smoke grenades
. He held a grenade in each hand. “Let there be…
disharmony
.” Through the metal slide, Frost tossed the smokers towards the police. They began to hiss and fill the police-controlled side of the bank with smoke. Tony’s troops made their way to the truck.

Panic had set in for the police teams. “Shit. Carter, we can’t see a thing! What are we doing here?!”

Carter’s eyes were watering from the smoke. “Hold your positions!” They could not engage Tony’s men with their vision obstructed, but to step out of the smoke would surely be a death wish—they would be thrown into the cross-hairs of the enemy, out of position.

“You know the orders, Lee,” Frost told the driver. “The moment Scorcher, Hachiuma, and Tony are in the truck, we leave—
not before
.
Everyone else is expendable
.” With the cover of smoke, it was relatively safe to open the side door of the truck. Pike leaned out with a rocket launcher in hand. He fired off a round blindly into the smoke.

Carter’s ears rang. He could hear the screams of his comrades as the rocket impacted. “Fall back, fall back!” He could barely see the entrance doors, but there was no option—
they had to move
.

“Oi, Tony. Tony!”

Tony Calzone was leaning against the sofa, with his gun dangling loosely in his hand. He had a glazed expression on his face. His eyes were half open and staring off into the distance. Someone grabbed Tony by the shoulders and shook him.

“Huh!?” Tony suddenly jarred back into consciousness. He looked up to see two of his men standing in front of him: It was Ramon and Freddy.

“We gotta get out of here, boss, c’mon,” Freddy muttered. Ramon took the gun from Tony’s hand and pocketed it. Freddy prepared to hoist Tony to his feet and then noticed the blood trickling from the back of his head. “Oh hell man, this looks bad. It might be a concussion,” Freddy muttered.

Ramon examined Tony’s injury. “Shit. He needs a hospital. C’mon, let’s get him to the truck.”

Scorcher laughed. “Like what you see, Kasparov?”

From inside the vault, Bruce watched in horror as the police forces retreated after being devastated by the rocket.

Santos balled his hands into fists. “Let’s go, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded. “I’m taking out that truck, Santos.”

“NO CHANCE!” Scorcher bursted out, with an unexpected surge of energy. He caught Bruce off guard and struck him repeatedly. Hachiuma was on his feet now too. Both villains were severely injured but knew this was a crucial moment, and they had to muster everything they had to escape. Hachiuma grabbed hold of Santos’ arm and swung him against the wall. Scorcher shot flames through the vault door and up towards the roof like a flare gun.

Frost spotted them and pointed them out to Lee. “Go
get
them.” The truck began to move.

Surprise could only last for so long. Bruce dodged Scorcher’s next two strikes and knocked him to the ground with one punch. Several of Tony’s men were walking alongside the rolling truck and opened fire on Bruce’s position. Bruce pressed up against the side of the vault wall to avoid the hail of gunfire. With the suppressive fire holding Bruce back, Hachiuma escaped out of the vault. Scorcher crawled on his belly, right behind Hachiuma. Once out of the vault, Scorcher stood up and broke into a run.

Santos regained his footing. He locked eyes with Bruce, who nodded at him. “Let’s pour it on.” With fists glowing, the pair aimed through the vault door and planted their feet. The barrage of energy projectiles they unleashed was truly a sight to behold. Tony’s men scattered from the fearsome attack—the ones that were caught in the barrage were instantly knocked out cold. “Let’s go.” Bruce and Santos darted forward. Bruce aimed his hand at Hachiuma’s back. He
had
him—until... “What!?” Bruce looked over his shoulder startled as Santos tripped to the floor from a slide tackle... It was Hachiuma’s guard. A second one came out of nowhere and clocked Bruce in the face. With help from the Thai mercenaries, Hachiuma and Scorcher made it into the truck. Ramon and Freddy were already inside with Tony, who was drifting in and out of consciousness. A few of the grunts made it inside as well. Others were still outside the truck, firing upon the police, who were attempting to regain control of the situation. Frost gave Lee the signal. The truck engine roared, and the vehicle screeched through the entrance. It flew over the stairs and landed on the ground with a heavy thud. The police futilely fired upon the vehicle as it barrelled past them.
The ringleaders had managed to take flight and elude authorities
.

Bruce and Santos made short work of Hachiuma’s guard; most of their fight had already been knocked out of them by Santos in their initial bout. But these men had unwavering loyalty to Hachiuma. If using themselves as fodder to aid in Hachiuma’s escape was necessary, they were more than ready to oblige. With Scorcher and Hachiuma’s main attack force having escaped in the truck, the stragglers still fighting were quickly subdued by the police. Bruce and Santos walked out of the bank with their heads hung low. This was not a victory in Bruce’s book. Not by a long shot.

Paramedics were on the scene, transporting injured policemen into the ambulances. Captain Morring stared grimly at Bruce and Santos, as he walked up the steps to meet them. Alex had arrived at the bank as well. From the foot of the stairs, Varick acknowledged Bruce with a nod, then walked off.

Bruce stared at his son. “Alex…” He gritted his teeth—he couldn’t help it. He was suddenly overcome with a deep feeling of shame.

“I came right after school—saw it on the news. You okay, Dad?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I need to talk with Captain Morring here…”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll hang back.”

Santos put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t be long. C’mon, let’s head down.”

Varick had found a relatively private spot beside a parked vehicle. He pulled out his cell, dialled a number, and held the phone to his ear. He was sick of feeling useless. He should be on the front lines, without having his injuries preventing him from providing any real help. A gruff voice answered Varick’s call: “Yeah?”

“Billy, this is Varick.” Billy the snitch was Varick’s go-to informant. He conversed briefly with Billy about what had just transpired at First Bank. “I want to know…who was in that truck. And as soon as you find out, you contact me with a location.” Varick’s demeanor hardened while he listened to the response from the other end. “I don’t care how you do it, just take care of it. You’re going to give that information to me, and no one else. There’s gonna be hell to pay.”

Bruce sighed. “How bad is it?”

Captain Morring’s gaze strayed through the entrance of the bank to look at the carnage. “Three officers dead. Several injured. The rocket that went off inside the bank is what did most of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Morring shook his head. “Not your fault. No one was prepared for it.”

“Like hell it wasn’t your fault, Kasparov.” Carter had joined the huddle. He pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. “
You
were heading this. Take responsibility for its outcome.”

“Mommy, Mommy!” The group turned to see the little girl Molly crying as she ran by a stretcher. An officer held her back to prevent her from seeing the grisly sight. Bruce’s heart fell when he saw Molly’s mother on the stretcher. Blood dripped from the bullet entry point in her forehead. Carter scowled darkly at Bruce and stormed off.

***

Monday, November 1st, 1999

A heavy rain accompanied by high winds had set down in New York. Monday nights at the Seaberg Lounge were scarcely populated, but with the terrible weather, it was all but deserted. Oswalt Fletcher pulled up outside the club in an unmarked vehicle. He struggled to open his door against the wind, but manage it he did. He pulled his coat collar up high to weather the rainstorm and draped the right sleeve of his jacket over his sling. Walking past the main doors, Oswalt headed to the back entrance. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the front. He rapped sharply on the door. The metal slide on the rectangular peephole opened and a pair of eyes sized up Oswalt. The slide closed and the door creaked open.

Oswalt stepped inside the small office and wiped his feet on the mat. He extended his hand to the doorman: “Hello, Lucas.” Jack Solly was seated behind a rickety wooden desk. It was hardly a desk worthy of his stature, but it would suffice for functional purposes. Mark Solly was leaning against the wall beside Jack, with his hands folded across his chest. Jack Solly eyed Oswalt. He rubbed the rainwater out of his hair. “Police identified a body, a couple streets up from the bank. It was Brody.”

Jack gritted his teeth. “And Wells?”

Oswalt shrugged. “No idea.”

“Our guys on the street haven’t been able to find a trace of him or his vehicle,” Mark informed.

 Jack drummed his fingers on his desk. “I want to know…what the
hell
happened. And my briefcases…they stole my fuckin’ cases!”

“If I know what it is, I can get police on it to retrieve it.”

“Well, if it was something I didn’t mind police looking at, I would have considered it. This is a major financial setback,” Jack muttered. “
Major.
” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, I find it hard to believe that this was a coincidence—that they knew to ambush you two,” Jack said, pointing at his sons. “What we got here is a traitor. The only people that knew about the deposit are in this room, excluding Wells and Brody. I know my own blood would never betray me, and Wells is practically family. He’s been in my employment for over ten years.” Solly stared hard into Oswalt. “Which just leaves
you
.” Keeping his eyes locked on Oswalt, his right hand ruffled through the desk drawer and came up with a gun. Slowly, he placed the gun down on his desk.