Author Notes: Again, for obvious reasons, the details mentioned in the following chapters will not be 100% accurate. No matter how much I enjoy including researched material into the story... it isn't gonna happen here. Most descriptions are used for visual purposes only.
In other words, unless you enjoy having SWAT kicking in your door, no one in their right mind is going to Google how to properly construct a bomb then share those details in a fictional story. ;)
Well, not until you're on the New York Times Bestseller list, anyway. :D
LIZZINGTON
Arriving at Houston Hobby in record time, Red looked around his little entourage, feeling a bit more confident now that they were up and moving, and given a solid lead finally.
Even though Ressler was present, Samar was there to temper the guy's natural ability to make Red want to shove a loaded weapon up his ass. Sometimes just breathing the same air as Ressler made Red want to kill the Agent, simply because, well, frankly, he could.
"So, you want me to talk this Anders guy up." Danny asked. "Soldier to... soldier." The man twisted his mouth distastefully, for he was and always would be a Marine, not a trench monkey.
"Yeah," Red nodded. "If the Russian roused his suspicions... he'll certainly clam up when he sees we've brought the Irishman with us."
"Usually, me sparkling personality wins people over." McSha grinned. "This Anders person must be a hard-liner then, yes?"
"But you explained who Sean was and why he was important." Liz said.
"Yes," Red agreed he had, "but McSha is still a foreigner in Anders eyes, and someone to be leery of divulging secrets around."
"I can't default Mr. Anders for being cautious." McSha said, pulling his attention from the window by which he sat as the plane taxied slowly down the runway. "He's a man after me own heart, lass."
"It's nothing personal." Daniel said as he rolled up his sleeves, baring his tattooed forearms.
"With a fellow soldier present," Red motioned between himself and Danny, "he may talk more freely."
"I'm the one who speaks fluent American." Liz quipped to lighten the mood.
"Be that as it may," Red shifted smiling eyes towards his wife, "you might not want to mention you are, in fact, Russian... da."
"Funny." Liz fake laughed, wrinkling her nose.
"You know," Ressler grumbled, "there are Federal Agents also present."
"Yes," Red didn't discount that fact, "but Anders thinks you talk funny so... keep your mouth shut for the interim, hum." He strongly suggested before turning his attention to Samar. "I know this doesn't need to be said, but for his benefit," he hooked a thumb towards Ressler, "keep all mention of Mossad under your hat, please."
Fighting the smile wanting to break free, Samar nodded. "Understood." She lifted a proud head. "For the duration, I suppose I could be Italian, although you people did fight them in the Big One, right?"
"That would be a mark against ya, lovely." McSha picked up on the playfulness displayed. "Better to be Swiss. It's a neutral country...still."
"Don't count Anders out just yet, people." Red cautioned. "So far, he's the only one with enough savvy to actually pick up a lead for us. We haven't done so well for ourselves."
The good-natured ribbing eased as everyone felt the sting of reality set in once again.
The plane came to a stop in the designated hangar. Everyone gathered their essentials. Dembe stood, opening the doorway.
Red went to the door, looking out over the Texas landscape. It was strange to think they had only left the area just days ago. It seemed like ages.
"Ugh," Liz came to his side, waving the folder she held, fanning her face, "was it this hot when we were here?"
"Yep," Red grinned before offering a hand, assisting Lizzy down the stairs. They had just stepped down onto the pavement when Red noticed movement out the corner of his eye.
A man, who appeared to be in his early sixties, approached, his steps purposeful. Even wearing the baseball cap and overalls, Red could see years of military training in the man's bearing. The way he walked, to his out-stretched hand and sturdy handshake, spoke of careful discipline.
"You, Reddington?" Jim Anders asked, ending the brief but effective meeting period, the low resonant voice matching Red's expectations.
"I am, Mr. Anders." Red offered, motioning Lizzy to his side. "This is my wife, Agent Elizabeth Reddington."
"Ma'am." Anders tilted his hat respectfully. "It's nice to meet you. Please, ya'll, just call me Jim now...saves time and effort on everyone's part."
"It's my pleasure, Jim." Liz smiled, charming the older gentleman.
"Sir," Daniel respectfully addressed the man, offering over a hand, "I'm Daniel Courtland."
"You a Marine boy?" Jim asked, having noticed the USMC related tattoo on Daniel's forearm.
"Yes, sir, I am." Daniel straightened his bearing, as expected.
"Army," Ander's gripped Daniel's hand firmly, "retired."
"He's Navy," Daniel smirked, hooking a thumb Red's way.
"Yeah?" Ander's nodded his approval after a brief hesitation. "I'll try not to hold it against you, son."
Chortling, Red shrugged. "I assure you, we're much better than Country Club cadets..."
"Shit," Anders guffawed. "I'll take a jarhead and squid over a damn zoomie any day."
Glancing between the trio, Liz frowned her confusion when they chuckled for the shared joke... whatever it had been. "You people speaking American?" She narrowed her eyes, which caused Jim Anders to chuckle appreciatively.
"About as American as it gets, Ma'am." Jim acknowledged her wit. "That first fella I spoke to didn't exactly instill me with a great deal of confidence. He thought he was talkin' to a redneck." The man scratched his head thoughtfully. "He was probably right on that point, but I do have a legitimate concern here and I think it should be addressed by someone in higher places than Nederland, Texas."
"Home of Tex Ritter Park." Sean shocked everyone present by the proclamation.
Jim shifted non-committal eyes to the man. "You the Irish bomb guy." The man nodded sagely, waiting patiently to make his judgement on the foreigner.
"I'm the Irish bomb guy." McSha smiled charmingly, offering his hand to the older gentleman.
"No offense meant." Jim looked Sean up and down thoughtfully. "I'd imagine if anyone should know about explosives, it's the Irish."
Liz winced at the backward compliment.
"Well, we've had generations to learn the craft, I'm thankful to say." Sean shot right back. "Much as your moonshiners in Tennessee and Kentucky, yes?"
"That Irish Whiskey..." Jim's brow furrowed as he blew out a low, impressive whistle. "Makes our boys sit up and take notice, right enough. Hat's off to you there."
"No offense taken, sir," McSha assured in his Irish lilt. "It'll eat a hole through your intestines, that's for sure." He concurred. "And on good batches... strip paint."
Jim's face cracked into a genuine smile. He nodded his respect.
With the pleasantries out of the way, Daniel stepped forward.
"I hear you served in Nam, sir." Drawing attention to Anders' experience, Daniel focused the man's attention on the matter at hand. "You believe you witnessed suspicious activity in the area?"
"I did," Anders nodded, gesturing to the area in question. "If you'll follow me, it's just down this way a tad. You can see the damage for yourselves, then make your judgement call."
Falling in step with Red, Liz listened as he, Daniel and McSha eased even more pertinent information Mr. Anders had failed to mention before.
"Wasn't aware of the significance of that stuff...not at the time." The older man seemed relieved he was being taken seriously. "In a way, I hope I'm wrong," Jim said, "but I hate to think I might have also cried wolf, you know. What if this whole thing wasn't what I thought?"
"You aren't the type to raise an alarm over nothing." Red felt it in his gut. "No, you saw something that didn't sit right with you, and whatever it is... we'll figure it out."
Rubbing a bandana across his sweaty neck, Anders reluctantly nodded. "Alright...sounds good."
"Tell me about these screens you saw." McSha had questions of his own.
Focusing his eyes on the ground as they walked, Jim related all he could remember, even the color of the face plates the Russian guy handled.
"You are one observant guy, Jim." Red bolstered the guy's esteem. "A trained observer. I would expect nothing less from a man of your caliber."
"It's just around this corner." Jim motioned as he led them into the underbelly of the airport, his face one big grin now.
Hesitating in his tracks, the man cocked his head. "Well, I'll be..." he gestured with a slight lift of his head, lowering his voice. He hastened the men back with a restraining hand behind the cover of the dividing wall of concrete they had almost just rounded.
"You people ain't gonna believe this." He checked to keep a running tab on what he had just witnessed. "That commie bastard's right there where I left him last night."
Reaching for their weapons, each member of the team cautiously waited for Red to glance about the divider. His look told them Anders was right in his statement.
"That's the Russian you saw?" Red murmured.
"Positive." Anders replied steadily. "No question."
"Jim, you tuck back out of sight." Red clapped the man quietly on the arm.
The man's eye ticked indecisively, but he reluctantly did as requested. He moved his position in the scheme of things, allowing Ressler and Samar to take his place.
"Goes against everything inside me." He muttered dejectedly.
Samar heard, glancing at the man's grim face.
"You've done your share, Mr. Anders." She assured. "Now it's our turn to step up." The woman was shocked to see the clear blue eye fill with unshed tears.
"Thank you, Ma'am, for that."
"No, sir." Samar's lovely face clouded over with an odd expression. "We thank you."
"I'll wait until you..." Red motioned to Danny and McSha, "get over there, on the other side, in case he bolts." He motioned to the area needed.
"I'm going to the east." Ressler turned about, taking the long way around that he not be noticed.
Samar followed suit, protecting his back.
All avenues of escape would soon be blocked.
Red watched patiently but kept a running check on the Russian who seemed engrossed in whatever project he worked over, unmindful of his surroundings.
Red's eyes scanned the wide space. Workers went about their daily routine. He hoped there would be no unnecessary danger to the employees found here, but it was what it was.
He also wondered just how far into the project the Russian was. Had they arrived in the nick of time or...
"Walk with me," Red muttered to Dembe. He pulled the end of his vest down, cricking his neck to ease the mounting tension.
He checked once more on the team's positions. Everyone was in place.
He shifted a look to Dembe, and both men stepped out into the open, their manner relaxed, inoffensively unobtrusive.
"So, I tell her, right?" Red forced a chuckle. "Sure, baby, I've got the time and the means." He hit Dembe's arm in open camaraderie. "I'm just sitting here waiting for you to deliver the goods. I'm an old guy. Don't have all the time in the world."
Tucking his gun against his side, Red approached the Russian at a casual clip.
"And that is why you are late for the meeting?" Dembe's tone suggested rancor. "This is an important merger. You must be more circumvent in your..."
"Whoa, buddy." Red pulled Dembe up short. "We took a wrong turn somewhere, seems like." Both he and Dembe looked around aimlessly. "This is not the way to the Executive Lounge, I'm thinking."
Dembe shrugged large shoulders. "The man said to take a right back there, correct?" He hooked a thumb.
By that time the Russian had halted his work and was staring calmly at the new arrivals on scene, nothing more...as yet.
"Hey," Red stepped a step closer, his smile an amiable one. "You work here, right? We're looking for the Executive Lounge. Are we anywhere near where we're supposed to be?"
Anton Richter was no fool. He realized immediately that he had been addressed in perfect Russian.
He sat still, his mind working feverishly. He kept his features perfectly clear. "Are you speaking to me, sir?" He motioned to himself. "I'm afraid I don't speak whatever language you're using."
Red hesitated as well. "...You don't?" His surprise was allowed. "Really? You look like a fucking commie to me."
Anton blinked, nothing more. He knew he should have eliminated that old redneck son-of-a-bitch, as his instincts had told him. He smiled pleasantly. "I beg your pardon?" His hand inched toward his opened carry case.
Both Dembe and Red instantly lifted their weapons.
Anton halted any movement.
"You ease back away from that bag." Red held a steady aim. Dembe stepped slowly in an arc, needing to see the insides of the bag in question.
"...It is wired, Raymond." His grim statement caused Red to swallow hard. "There is a timer visible."
Red lifted his head, his eyes turning cold. "Well, if we go...so do you."
Anton shrugged carelessly. "Part of the job." He stayed perfectly still, making no threatening moves. "Well, gentlemen. Where do we go from here?" The accent was suddenly more pronounced, as if the pretense of moments before was now quite unnecessary.
Red thought the Russian posed very good questions, but he had no answers at present.
They were garnering attention. Workers had stopped, some were pointing to the two men holding a weapon on another...
"In case you are curious?" Anton lifted noble brows. "You have less than twenty minutes to make a decision." He motioned to the timer which he could see perfectly, ticking down the seconds. "I don't really want to end my existence. I'm assuming, neither do you." He licked thoughtful lips. "Some sort of compromise seems called for. Do you not agree?"
All lifted their attention upward as a disembodied voice filtered out of the overhead PA.
"Attention all personnel, all flights have been grounded. I repeat, all flights have been grounded."
Ground workers came trickling in, listening to the news delivered, all with a bewildered look on their faces.
"Preliminary reports out of France relate Charles de Gaulle Airport experienced an explosion of some kind. Due to the seriousness of this tragedy," the announcer continued, "and out of an abundance of caution, all flights have been grounded or rerouted to more viable destinations."
All present shifted knowing looks to their contemporaries, before they silently began to gather their personal effects. To hell with the two guys with a gun on some poor slob...that news item did not trump the one they were hearing now.
Nothing said it was time to flee the area and run for the hills like an unexplained explosion at an international airport...just like the one they were employed by.
"We ask airport staff to implement evacuation procedures at this time." The voice suggested. "Remain calm and depart the airport from the nearest exist with all due haste. Thank you."
Barely controlling his anger, Red gripped the gun in his hand. Had the powers that be listened to his warning in the first place, none of this would be happening.
"You hear that." Red sneered. "One of your little bombs detonated. You must be so proud." He held the steel-blue eyes easily. "What the fuck kind of man are you? There are woman and children in these fucking places. How many did you just kill?"
"I am a professional." Anton stated quietly. "I do not eliminate indiscriminately. Precautions were taken." His eyes dropped to his bag. "You are the ones issuing the threat in this particular scenario. I can disarm this easily."
"Then do so," Dembe suggested evenly.
"What's in it for me?" Anton needed bargaining tools.
"You aren't the only one who can disarm it, laddie." McSha sauntered on site, motioning the Russian aside with a leveled German Luger.
"I feel somehow slighted." Anton noted the weapon of choice. "Taken down and not even by a Russian weapon?" He lifted to his full height. "Once it's set, it's set. You know, if anyone would, only I can disarm it. Besides, this setup is too sophisticated for the likes of a stupid Irishman."
"Get fucked...you Commie bastard." McSha countered courteously in a damn good impression of Jim Anders, then gave Richter the finger.
"Get your ass up and over here." Red motioned with his own weapon.
Richter sighed lightly.
He stepped to where Red indicated, lifting his hands leisurely. "Let me guess, the old man in the overalls, da?" It was a source of amusement for the man, clearly. "I knew I should have taken the time to have that cup of coffee with him."
Red watched the bastard closely, his senses tingling.
"Truth is?" Richter grimaced almost playfully. "I didn't give him much credit. I just thought he was a nuisance, actually, nothing more." Anton shrugged. "Just goes to show. A little kindness might have spared me this indignity, hum?"
"That's funny, you speaking of kindness." Such an intellect genuinely troubled Red. He glanced at the digital readout inside the carry case sitting meters away. "You just blew up an airport with, how many casualties are we talking again?"
"Give me a little credit." Anton shook a weary head. "Nothing is ever black and white, man. Must you assume the worst? There are larger issues with which to contend, of which you are not even aware."
Red's brow furrowed quizzically. "You're trying to justify..."
"I do not need to justify my actions." Richter sent the man a look. "My actions were necessitated by some fucker who actually cared nothing for other people's welfare."
Again, Red tried to understand the reasoning of such a mind. He shared a puzzled glance with Dembe.
McSha lowered his eyes, reluctantly understanding the other man's point-of-view. Had he slipped this far down the proverbial cesspool? His upbringing in Ireland caused a different point of view most wouldn't accept.
Richter was right, in a sense. Sean's race were laid-back, live and let live, kind of people. They had never actively sought out hostilities from others, but others would invariably come seeking to force an unwanted way of life...to impose their will. The Irish were never one to back down from tyranny once pushed beyond their limits.
Having lived under such oppression for such a long period, one's outlook changed. Generation after generation was instilled with the anger, the prejudice...the hatred of a controlling entity.
Yes, Sean McSha understood the need to lash out, to stop the insanity. For better or worse, he understood.
He wasn't certain people who had never felt such restrictions could actually understand. Americans were free people. They had fought for that freedom, yes, but it was so many long years ago; they now took it for granted.
Richter smiled pleasantly over to a pensive Red Reddington, his reflexes in remarkable condition. The man kept his body in excellent shape, indeed, just for such a moment.
The movement was inconsequential, really. Red wouldn't have noted it for his true intent was misdirected by a very intelligent man.
In milliseconds, Anton had achieved his goal. He always kept his back-up weapon concealed neatly in a small holster strapped inconspicuously in the middle of his back, snugged around his waist.
The man dropped hastily into a crouch, rolling across the hot asphalt to a concealed position behind the electrical box he had only moments ago connected to the bag full of explosives.
Red and Dembe's reflexes were in excellent working order as well, each man having witnessed the move on their antagonist's part, reacting accordingly.
Red swiftly moved to his left, seeking cover behind the safety of a concrete pillar.
Dembe moved right, making his way about a truck which transported luggage to the planes. The vehicle was packed high with cargo, but the large man kept low, easing to a more advantageous spot just to the end of the truck's capacity.
Red cursed his momentary lack of vigilance, but it was what it was. Any further thought was halted by the fact their assailant was now on the move, the Russian's weapon having opened fire. Richter fled rapidly away from the area, ducking into a corridor of spanned iron columns leading back to the entrance of the actual terminal.
"Shit." Red muttered angrily, up and following suit in a blink of an eye. He cursed himself soundly for allowing such an amateur mistake on his part. He sensed Dembe to his right as he moved closer to their target.
Richter swung his arm in a wide arc, firing blindly down the corridor before bolting the opposite direction.
Leveling his gun, Red took aim and fired just as the guy took a hard right, missing the man by a fraction of an inch. Flinching, Anton covered his eyes from the spray of shattered concrete blowing back in his face.
He cursed loudly but did not slow in his movements.
Red's eyes followed as Ressler and Samar rushed after the man, running diagonally down the straightaway only to notice a second later, Lizzy was fast on their heels.
"Elizabeth, no!" Red snapped angrily, jerking up short. He cursed as the words vanished in a rush of wind. Lizzy continued her trek, careening around a corner, disappearing in a blur.
"McSha!" Red jerked a finger towards the device. "Shut that fucking thing down!"
The Irishman was already bent over the bag, his brow studiously furrowed.
Red hastened his steps, his own brow a study in contrasts. "I'm going to strangle that woman's scrawny ass!" He gritted out his anger and frustration, hot on the trail of said woman. Who was nowhere in sight now.
Red threw a beleaguered glance Dembe's way, but the man was far ahead now. He could only follow suit, hoping all roads lead to his woman. His fears mounting as the minutes passed by.
Running down countless corridors and outside venues, one thing looming large in Red's mind. This had the same feel as his nightmare.
Places which seemed familiar, but he had never seen before. An overpowering sense of...dread.
Focusing on the path before him, Red's stomach suddenly knotted with trepidation. Before he could stop it, visions of his nightmare the evening before flashed by at breakneck speed.
Lizzy was at an airport, and alone as she was in his dream, and he couldn't get to her. Suddenly, it was almost impossible to breathe.
A surge of panic pushed its way to the forefront, causing all the anger he felt to evaporate into misty vapor.
Red stuttered in his steps. Anton was up ahead, in the distant space. The man hooked a left and ran headlong back towards the east terminal.
Altering his trajectory, Red mirrored the Russian's path. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a troubling reality pushed forward. Even stopping the immediate threat did not mean Lizzy or others would be safe from the imminent one looming.
If McSha couldn't...
Unproductive thinking.
Red halted such thoughts instantly, concentrating on what he could do, placing one foot in front of the other...moving forward toward one objective at least.
A rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins when he caught sight of Anton once again. The terrorist halted, glancing about frantically.
The guy was blocked off from his planned escaped route. Ressler and Samar carefully edged toward the guy's position, weapons drawn and at the ready.
Dembe's head appeared around the protection of a garbage container.
Where was Lizzy?
Red swept the area with the eyes of a trained observer, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
Richter doubled-back, retracing his steps, the action a decisive one.
"You bastard!" Red swore under his breath, following the same path where he fell in step with Dembe. "He can't get to his vehicle!" He called out as the large man moved closer.
Dembe nodded shortly, his eyes never leaving the pursuit.
"Get that fucker, Dembe." There was venom in Red's tone.
With a burst of energy, Dembe pushed off, running full tilt towards the Russian. His athleticism beautiful to behold.
Ressler was right behind, clipping across the tarmac at a remarkable rate of speed.
Red veered drastically, cutting off any route Richter might think to take.
Samar had kicked off her heels and was coming up fast from behind Red's position, but still...no Lizzy.
Stepping out into the light from a shadowed overhang which held the balcony adjoining the Executive's Lounge, Red finally caught sight of... "Lizzy." He breathed a sigh of relief only to have his blood freeze in the next instant, for out of the corner of his eye, Anton Richter stepped casually from his concealed hiding place.
His weapon was pointed directly toward the female agent.
Lizzy had no clue, her blue eyes searching frantically about for her team members. Those blue eyes brightened as they recognized her friends far down the tarmac.
"No!" Red bellowed his mounting rage as Anton leveled his weapon more accurately.
Rushing headlong for the woman, Red curved his arm about her waist, his momentum carrying his stocky frame forward...he yanked Lizzy hard against his chest, deliberately falling backwards, taking her out of the line of fire.
Landing with a grunt on the blistering asphalt, Red carefully assessed the woman's condition in the split seconds following the harrowing escape. As Providence would have it, they had fallen behind a ladder truck and were hidden from Anton's weapon fire, which pinged harmlessly off the fender of the massive vehicle.
Rolling Lizzy under his bulk, Red shielded the woman, protecting her from the gunfire erupting around them. The distinct ting of bullets ricocheting off metal sounded dangerously close by.
He could distinguish the sounds of the weapons. Ressler's 9 mm Glock issued forth several heated rounds. Samar's smaller version answered the call. Dembe's SIG-Sauer heavier report echoed around the vast space.
"What the hell just happened?" Liz shifted uncomfortably beneath Red's bulk. "This shit is hot, Red. Let me up." Her wriggling became more pronounced.
"I know, baby." Red grimaced sympathetically. The ground had to be scorching, but until the Russian was down, they were stuck. He moved a fraction, allowing her to sit slightly. "Stay back."
He eased around the end of the ladder truck, catching glimpses of the ongoing firefight.
Airport personnel scattered, running the opposite direction of the shots fired. Those unlucky enough to be cut off from the bowels of the airport ducked behind heavy machinery. During the brief lulls between shots, a few leapt for opened passageways.
Bile crawled into Red's throat as he helplessly watched their leaps of faith. If they only knew their quest to find safety vanished the moment they flung themselves back through those doorways.
Inching forward, Red peered around the truck, scanning the terrain. Waves of heat lifted off the darkened asphalt, creating a distorted mirage on the horizon. The orange summer sun framing the oily black tarmac might normally have been considered picturesque were it not for the one lone figure which marred the setting.
Anton had somehow managed to escape the carefully considered containment of both Dembe and the Federal agents.
Looking back over his shoulder, Anton spun about, firing his gun at the rapidly approaching pair.
Hurling themselves out of the line of fire, Samar and Ressler tumbled out of sight behind a couple vehicles before coming to a jarring stop against the unyielding barrier of concrete blocks set up to prevent anyone or thing coming too close to the airstrip's vicinity.
Dembe hunkered down out of sight behind a luggage cart.
Easing to the edge of the ladder, Red leveled his weapon, taking aim at Richter but was waylaid by a loud report of gunfire as it split the humid, stifling air.
Jerking back, Anton stumbled in his step, running headlong into a belt loader in his path. Bouncing off the unforgiving surface, he fell back, his body skidding back comically across the hot asphalt.
Scowling curiously, Red shifted his attention towards the trajectory of the gunfire.
Jim Anders was tucked back behind a transport van, his weapon leveled off and trained on the now prone figure of a very disgruntled, confused, and dazed...Russian terrorist.
Pushing off the ground, Anton collapsed back against the blacktop, yelling out painfully, his arm giving way under his weight. Rolling to his back, the man attempted desperately to lift his visibly shaking arm, only to drop it in the next instance, crying out again in agony.
His weapon was held in lax fingers.
Cautiously emerging from behind their protective cover, Ressler and Samar trained their weapons on the man who writhed painfully on the ground. Their stringent commands were yelled so loudly, even Red heard them from his position.
"I got you," Ressler growled at his partner, watching Samar's back as she tentatively approached the suspect.
Favoring his arm visibly, Anton winced his pain as he rolled to his side.
"Don't move!" Ressler yelled at the man, his tone halting any further actions on Anton's part.
Groaning her discomfort, Liz shifted her weight slightly. "...I know how he feels." She muttered dejectedly, favoring her own injury. "Can this day get any worse?"
Red shared a wary glance back.
"Oh..." Liz had momentarily forgotten about... "The bomb."
Red's features were grim, but he held his peace. "One down." He relayed the agents' progress. "Thanks to our new friend, Jim Anders, quick thinking, I might add. They got him, baby."
He helped her arise, critically examining her for any signs of wear and tear. "Are you alright?"
Anton watched Samar's approach with a critical stare. As unobtrusive as possible, his bloodied fingers curved around a small, oblong object in the pocket of his slacks.
The movement was hidden from Ressler's gaze, for the Russian's free hand was concealed beneath his side.
Ressler's attention was for his partner's safety at any rate, and Richter was not making any threatening moves from the agent's vantage point.
"I'm okay." Liz smiled up at the inquiry. "A little worse for wear... but functioning."
Red spared a glance at the scene taking place, keeping tabs on the action going down.
His eyes widened as he witnessed the minimal movement the Russian made. Red's body tensed, as he sensed danger more than actually witnessed it. He pushed Lizzy back, his arm going out to force the small body out of harm's way.
"Hit it!" He yelled a warning Ressler's way, lifting his weapon rapidly...
Dembe rushed forward, securing Samar in a powerful embrace, literally dragging the woman behind protective covering. He covered the lovely body with his own, his hand tucking the woman's head into his shoulder.
Caught out in the open, and without a place to seek safety of any kind, Ressler ran the opposite direction of Richter's position. In their bid to gain traction, Ressler's shoes slid in the melted tar, impeding his escape.
Panting against the throbbing pain in his now defunct arm, Anton fumbled with the gadget, grim determination on his face. He barely managed to flick the needed switch.
Red gathered Lizzy in his arms, pressing his body close to hers. Chancing a glance to ascertain Richter's next move, Red's pupils contracted as a bright sudden flash consumed the sky and surrounding area.
The heavy air remained deathly quiet one millisecond before the deafening silence was replaced with a loud crack which shattered the eardrums with a deafening explosion.
The thunderous roar shattered windows overhead, blanketing him and Lizzy in bits of glass shards. The resonating growl echoed on for miles where it was carried onward in the strong winds of the day.
A giant fireball enveloped itself around what Red assumed was Anton's truck, which then ignited the fuel tanks of a jumbo jet sitting just a few meters away.
Red pulled Lizzy closer, tucking her under his body as he crouched away from the shards and imminent danger presenting itself.
A towering cloud billowed upward out of the fiery inferno, darkening the sky in a black, rolling mushroom of thick, bilious fumes.
Knocked off his feet from the percussive blast, Ressler curled in on himself, forming a tight ball with his body as he shielded his head from flying debris and flicking flames.
Red breathed a sigh of relief as Dembe's face came into view for a split second before the man's eyes widened and he hastily ducked back out of sight.
Jerking his head towards the approaching danger, Red's breath caught as a shockwave rippled along the ground, sending dirt and other debris lifting into the air in a vibrating essence that caused the man to cringe inwardly.
Hurriedly tucking himself around Lizzy, Red palmed the woman's head protectively into his shoulder area.
The ground rumbled beneath his body, and heat from the blast singed his skin. Digging in his pocket, he jerked a handkerchief free, shoving it over Lizzy's mouth.
The woman's soft whimpers shook her entire frame. Red tightened his arms, closing his eyes to the sound.
Red recalled the oppressive heat upon their arrival of a normal Texas summer day.
He suddenly would have gladly settled for that heat as opposed to the searing burn of the explosion which had just passed over.
Coughing raggedly, the man sought to clear the smoke and dust from his parched throat as a plume of grey heaviness settled about the affected areas.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" He grated his fury, coughing and spitting the dirt and debris from his mouth.
He hurriedly checked on the woman in his arms. Lizzy sagged against his strength, holding the kerchief close to her nose and mouth, her eyes closed wearily.
"Are t-they..." she had to start again for a coughing spell cut short her intended inquiry, "Samar, Ressler," she stammered shakily, "Dembe...are they..."
Red checked to ascertain the answer himself.
Lifting his eyes upward, Red cursed as shiny objects became visible through the rolling smoke overhead. The swirling chunks fell in fanciful loops as they danced about in the strong winds like sheets of light aluminum foil.
The jagged fragments landed on the hard pavement with a jarring clang, reminding all present just how heavy and dangerous those shimmering, shiny objects truly were.
Red shielded Lizzy as hunks of debris rained down on them from above. He pushed hard into the side of the vehicle, closing his eyes, praying silently that no harm would befall the woman in his arms.
Thankfully, the chaos only lasted a short while before an eerie silence blanketed the surrounding area.
Red stayed very still, listening...for what, he wasn't exactly sure for the moment. He couldn't hear a thing. No engines, voices, wind, not even his own breathing.
Had the blast shattered his eardrums?
"You lift that fucking thing again and you will be one dead fucker!" Red heard Samar's strident warning which answered one question, at least in his befuddled mind.
"Do not move!" Dembe's voice, deepened by the cloud of dust, was a quiet, authoritative promise of retribution.
Realigning his sights, Red aimed his own weapon, targeting Anton Richter's head. He held Lizzy close with his free arm, his expression a deadly serious one care anyone look.
He wasn't close enough to see the Russian's face, but had he been, Red would have instinctively known the other man's intent.
Anton wasn't afraid to die. He had a job to do...and he intended to carry out the protocols.
Inching towards the remote which had been thrown from his hand with the effects of the bomb's blast, his eyes filled with purpose and direction.
Samar shook her head minutely, her own beautiful gaze turning cold and empty.
The remote was suddenly shattered into a million bits of black plastic by a totally unexpected miniature explosion, which took everyone by surprise.
"I believe the lady told you to remain stationary, boy." Jim Anders stepped casually from behind a pumper truck, his stance a rather determined one in itself. He walked forward slowly, a .45 trained on Anton's head. "You Commie bastard. Don't even have enough manners and upbringing to heed a fine woman's admonishment?" He shook a woeful head. "I should shoot you again, just for that."
Red brows lifted fractionally.
Laying spent and panting, Anton fell back, surrendering with a grunt of pain. "You old fucking redneck. I should have eliminated you that first encounter."
"Well, ya didn't now, did you?" Jim smirked down at the defeated individual. "All you Ruskie bastards talk a good game, but ya never follow through, boy." Was Jim's one gripe in life, apparently. "Pardon my language, pretty lady."
Samar had sauntered on site, a smile hidden behind those lovely eyes. "I like your style, Mr. Anders. I really do."
"You call me Jim now." She was gently admonished. "Thought we had established that already."
"I would deem it a great privilege, sir," Struggling to his feet, Ressler wiped at the blood pouring from a nasty gash on his forehead. Squinting against the stinging pain of the wound and sweat trickling into his eyes, he managed a wry grin. "If I could be afforded the same honor. Or at least...maybe you could keep an open mind about the possibility that I might someday become as good an American," the blue eyes softened somewhat, "as you, Mr. Anders."
Jim smiled disarmingly. "Shucks, boy, I don't judge too hastily these days." It was allowed. "Maybe I jumped to conclusions in your case. That's a pretty good head wound you got there. You should have that seen to."
Ressler dimpled accordingly. "It ain't nothing, sir."
Samar, secure that her partner was relatively unharmed, stooped, cuffing Richter's wrists behind his back with a professionally detached air.
Dembe held his weapon trained on Anton's person still, unwilling at present to drop his vigilance.
Resting her forehead against Red's neckline, Liz parted her lips, groaning her pain.
"Hey." The man instantly drew his attention to where it was needed. "What's going on?"
The woman leaned back slightly, resting her back heavily against the support of the ladder truck behind her. It was then Red noted...
"Oh god." His eyes widened in horror at the gaping wound in her shoulder and the blood dotting the crisp whiteness of her blouse. "Lizzy!"
"Don't freak." She held up a staying hand. "It's just a flesh wound...promise." She smiled wanly. "Francis would be out playing a rousing game of handball with such an insignificant thing."
Reaching hurriedly examining the blood-spattered wound, Red frantically pawed at the hole in her shirt even as he tried to calm his rising anxiety and fears.
"Shit!" He hissed. Yanking at his sleeves, he shakily removed his jacket, ripping his arms free of the fabric. "You'll be okay..." he vowed, "you'll be okay..."
"I just said that." She laughed musically, accepting the jacket about her shoulders for the loss of blood was making her cold and shivering.
"What's going on here, little lady?" Jim rushed over, crouching at their side. He gently turned the woman enough to see. "That's a through and through, right there." He announced with a whistle. "Saw a few of those in Nam, right enough. Shrapnel will do that to you sometimes. Know that's no great comfort at this exact moment, of course."
"Ambulance," Red grunted, "we need an ambulance."
"You're doing just fine." The large man assured, pulling his phone free from an overall pocket. "Keep the pressure on and everything will be just fine." Jim hurriedly relayed his requirements to the tower, demanding an ambulance to Gate 4 immediately.
"I need a towel..." Red looked around for anything. "Rip the fucking luggage apart, I don't care. I need something to stop the blood!"
Rushing off, Jim looked through the contents of the trucks beside them before coming back seconds later.
"Here!" Jim barked, holding out a new package of cotton pads from the emergency kit. "I got a couple blankets, too." He said, tearing into the plastic covering.
Thanking God above for little miracles, Red ripped into the sterile pads before helping Jim situate the blankets beneath Lizzy. It wasn't a lot of protection, but at least she had some buffer away from the blistering heat of the tarmac.
Red palpated the area, producing a fresh well of blood to pour from the wound.
Liz swallowed hard, her tongue thick and dry. "I'm okay..."
"No, you are not!" Red gently situated the pads against the oozing hole. "Baby, this is gonna hurt." He forewarned before leaning into the wound.
"Okay, okay, okay," Liz grimaced against the intense pain, blanching of color.
"God, baby, I'm so sorry..." Red's brow furrowed painfully, unable to stand the fact he was hurting his wife.
Recognizing the tortured expression on Reddington's face, Jim grasped the man's forearm. "You ain't hurting your baby... you're helping her. You got that, squid."
Memories of the night he put Lizzy back together after Carver's attack came in dark fragments, only to replaced by visions of Lizzy smiling and resting comfortably as she recuperated.
They had made her better then, they would make her better now.
Jerking a curt nod of his head, Red rubbed his face against his sleeve, wiping away the sweat pouring down his face.
"What's taking so long!" Red growled the words.
Dialing the tower once more, Jim's own features morphed into one of pure rage. "You tell those pussies to get the fuck down here! We got an injured woman on the tarmac!"
"What the hell is going on!" Red demanded an answer.
Covering the phone, Jim scowled at the man beside him. "The damned pansies won't come until the area is secure."
Gritting his teeth, Red snarled his anger. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"
"Until your agents call all clear..." Jim's nostrils flared, "they ain't moving."
Looking down at his wife bleeding out on the ground, then at the area now vacant of Samar and Ressler, Red's eyes darkened with pure hatred.
Gesturing to Lizzy, Red's face fell. "Hold this... please."
Shifting closer, Jim placed his hands above Red's, ready to take the man's place.
"I'm ready when you are." He assured, then offered a small smile when Reddington's face whitened further. "I swear to God above, I'll take as good care of her as I would my Muriel."
Trusting the man to do just that, Red blinked at the heat building in his eyes. Nodding he was ready, he waited for Jim to get into position before trading places.
"I'll be right back, sweetheart. You just rest, okay." Leaning, Red placed his mouth gently against Lizzy's, offering his silent promise. "Jim's gonna stay with you a minute, alright."
"Yeah..." Hissing her pain, Liz nodded tiredly. "Go.."
Kissing her once more, Red pulled back, brushing the hair from her face. "I love you..."
Pushing to his feet, Red stalked his way towards the bowels of the airport, his laser sharp eyes locked on his target.
LIZZINGTON
Ressler jabbed a finger at the explosive. "You will disarm it!" He demanded. "Then we'll see about–"
"Once it's set... there is no turning back." Anton patiently explained for the hundredth time. Americans were so predictable. "Ask your Irish friend over there. He will tell you. He's been trying for over ten minutes now. Haven't you, Mick."
Rolling his eyes, McSha focused on the path of wires running the gambit about the circuit board he studied so diligently and the digital readout as he had the last few minutes, double-checking his suspicions.
"Get the fuck out of the way!" Red growled, having burst through the door of the air-conditioned room...pushing past Ressler. He trained his pulled weapon on Anton Richter, the barrel pressed sharply to the man's temple. "You disarm that damn thing, and you do it yesterday!" He pressed the cold steel harder, making Anton wince. "Are we understanding each other?"
"We only have minutes left... I suggest we all vacate." The Russian would play out this hand, for he sensed a weakness in his opponents. Perhaps not this man holding a gun to his head, but surely the American agents would...
Snarling his rage, Red roughly curved his hand about Richter's arm, pushing his thumb hard into the man's wound.
Anton cried out gutturally, the pain excruciating.
"Disarm it or die where you stand." Red's eyes darkened to steel blue, his tone an icy, calm one.
"Reddington!" Ressler barked his rising dismay. "What do you think–"
"Shut the fuck up, Ressler!" Red glared angrily at the idiot, his withering glance silencing the bastard. "Stay the fuck out of my way, or I'll put your ass down just like I will this, maggot."
"You aren't hearing me." Anton tried reason and logic. "If it could be done, with time so short, don't you think I would have done it?" Which was an out-and-out lie, but no one had to know but himself.
"Fine." Red nodded jerkily, grabbing the cuffs from Ressler's belt. Hooking them around the cuffs Anton wore, he roughly dragged the man to the opposite wall, cuffing the Russian to an overhead pipe.
Ressler had altered the bonds because of Richter's injured arm.
"I guess if there's nothing left to do," Red spat, "there's nothing left to do!" He snarled before shifting murderous eyes towards Ressler. "Tell the authorities to clear the area and have an ambulance waiting at the gate for my wife... right fucking now!"
Ressler was clearly of two minds on the matter.
"Either that or I put a bullet in the asshole's head. Either way..." Red's tone said it all. "This fucker dies. He won't ever be doing this shit again. My word on that."
Glancing over his shoulder at the ruckus, then back at the clock ticking down, Daniel grimaced before returning his attention to the wiring before him. While not a bomb expert, he knew about wiring.
He had to give it to Richter. The man was a genius when it came to his craft.
A series of wire jumbled about themselves, each with a mass of confusing leads. It would take hours to figure out where each one originated from and to which terminal it was attached.
The timing mechanism and the explosive themselves were state-of-the-art. Which one was the trigger? Only time and patience would tell. McSha had the patience, but time was critically running short.
Lifting to his toes to lessen the gravity pushing against him, Richter grimaced as sweat began to pour down his face. His arm was giving him fits.
Time was winding down quickly. Far too fast for them to properly leave the area. Even if they ran for it, the chances of escaping the fallout were slim to none.
The game was no longer fun...or even viable.
"We really should go." Anton suggested, strongly. Surely, they would release him and take him along. That's what the Feds did...he knew their modus operandi like the back of his hand. "This lunatic is going to get us all killed."
"The only way you're leaving is in a cloud of dust." Red stated quietly, his gaze a cold, calculating one.
"Reddington, we gotta go!" Ressler motioned to the rapidly dwindling down digital readout on the timing mechanism. Receiving no response, the agent tried to physically remove the suspect from his captor's hands.
Red shoved Ressler hard, his expression unchanged. "Don't try that again." There was something deathly serious about the calmly stated warning. "...He stays."
Feeling the color drain from his face, Anton gaped. "You can't be serious." He grated his disbelief. "You have to stop him."
Ressler's eyes dropped as he realized. "You aren't worth dying for." He stepped back, breathing in an unsteady breath. "I'll pass the message to the authorities."
"Get out of here, Ressler." Red's mouth tightened.
Ressler shook his head. "My job is to stay with my prisoner. So... I stay."
"How very fucking noble." Anton rasped. "What kind of fucking idiots are you two? Get me the hell out of here. That is your fucking job!"
"How does it feel?" Red needed to know.
"Those people don't know their lives are going to end," Richter yelled, his terror rising. "I am more of a humanitarian than you, Reddington. At least I give them that!"
"Color me impressed." Red wasn't, clearly. "Guess that won't be on my headstone. I'll settle for one of America's most wanted. That's a claim to fame, kind of, don't you agree?"
"You're insane." Richter only just realized. "Let me loose...I'll disarm it!"
Red mused openly. "I don't think so," He had decided. "There is a principle involved here. I'm big on principles. Well, since I met Lizzy, at least." His heart saddened. He would never see his beautiful Lizzy ever again. A depression fell.
A dark, evil, despicable pall fell over the man. At least he had kissed those sweet lips goodbye. He had looked into those beautiful blue eyes...
"Let me loose! I will disarm it! I swear by all I hold holy!" Anton was sweating bullets, his voice shrill and shaky.
"...It's disarmed."
A quiet, unobtrusive voice came above all the din of the Russian's frantic entreaties.
"What!" Red snapped his head about.
"It's disarmed." McSha repeated, holding a dangling blue wire with his fingers. "Call that Cooper fellow and get the word out." He suggested, then stepped out of Samar's way as she snapped a picture of the now disarmed threat. "Get my best side, my lovely." He teased with a tired grin. "For posterity's sake."
"You," Red jabbed a finger at Ressler, "pick up that damn phone and give the all clear..." He glowered his rising fury. "Get that ambulance down to Gate 4 immediately!"
LIZZINGTON
Keeping his attention focused on Lizzy, Red shook McSha's hand as the medics loaded her onto a rollaway gurney.
"If you'll not be needing me anymore," McSha murmured, "I'll be taking my leave then."
"You don't want a flight back to DC?" Red asked.
"To find the Feds waiting for me with shackles?" McSha laughed. "No, I think I'll pass, if you please." He shook a sad head. "And after all I've done to them...I mean, for them. Tis a sad way to treat such a good man as I, do you not agree?"
Digging into his pocket, Red produced his wallet, holding out a wad of bills.
"Now, there won't be any of that." McSha waved away the offer, his expression set. "I dinna take payment from–"
"You do on this one." Red slapped the stack into McSha's palm. "I always pay my contractors." He said. "This time will be no different." He grimaced sympathetically when Lizzy winced away from the medic, tenderly cradling her arm.
"You didn't hire me." McSha countered, refusing to accept the offer, his expression unchanged.
Sighing wearily, Red shoved the money away. "Sean, you damned stubborn jackass...would you shut the fuck up and take the money. If anyone earned it on this one? You did." He said. "McBride's here in Houston. I'll call and tell him you need a lift out."
Reluctantly agreeing to the deal, McSha shook Red's hand. "It's been entertaining and ever so much fun."
"Well, come with me," Red insisted, following Lizzy to the ambulance. "I'll get Lizzy settled and then we can make some much needed arrangements on that flight thing."
Sean shrugged, ducking his head. "I don't like long goodbyes, as ya know, but I'll be saying my farewells to your lovely lady, if it's all the same to you."
"Lizzy will love that." Red placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "And Sean...if you ever need anything from me? Pick up a phone."
"Can I reverse the charges, then?"
"Your backward country still does that, do they?" Red teased. "Reverse them, charge them...hell, I'll even buy you a new phone line, if it's what you want."
"I have been wanting one of those iPhones," McSha rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "with a shatterproof case, of course."
"Well," Red shifted the man a wry look, "it only makes sense in your line of work, doesn't it."
Liz looked out the back of the ambulance at the smoldering carcass of the plane. "Considering what could have happened," she mused thoughtfully, "I guess, in comparison, the cost of a plane is less than an entire airport."
"Well, that plane there..." Jim motioned to the smoldering ash, "it was going to scrap, so, yeah." The man rubbed his chin, his eyes twinkling with subdued mirth. "I was going to try to take her across the scrape scales myself. It's so easy to fool the TSA these days, as you probably already know."
"That's a scary statement, Mr. Anders." Daniel teased.
"Them damned terrorists ain't dumb. They already got one over on us...they ain't about to try that way again." Jim pondered the fact. "They'll try a different tactic next time and we won't be prepared for it in the least. You know why, boy?" He was going to answer the question, so Danny just shut the hell up and let him. "Cause our government is stupid as shit, that's why."
"I am in total agreement, sir." Daniel grinned.
"So, the plane was just sitting there...empty?" Liz asked. "Why did it blow up like it did then?"
"I reckon Billy didn't empty the fuel tanks like we thought he did." Jim wiped the sweat off his brow once more. "He's got his eye on this girl in the Chick-fil-a in the duty free." He motioned to the airport above them. "Been sniffing at her ass for weeks." He confided quietly.
"Yeah?" Daniel chuckled. "What's the odds?"
"Just between me and you, boy ain't got a chance in hell." Jim gave a woeful shake of his head.
"Still, that was quite an explosion." Liz said.
"Shit, this ain't nothing." Jim waved off the explosion like it was nothing. "When that fertilizer plant blew last year..." He whistled and shook his head. "I've had some explosive shits in my day, but boy... now that was something to write home to mom about."
Chortling, Danny nodded. "Makes a man fear to eat a loaded burrito."
"Damn, right!" Jim cackled. "Blow the porcelain right from under you! We do things big here in the great state of Texas!"
Biting her lip, beads of sweat dotted Liz's brow as she fought not to laugh at the candid conversation.
Huffing his amusement, Red wiped a cold cloth across Lizzy's brow. "Gentlemen, and I use the term very, very loosely...if I could have just a few private minutes with my lovely wife? I would appreciate your efforts."
He stopped, his brow furrowing. Oh my god, the Texas thing rubbed off on a person, evidently.
Lizzy was once again holding her amusement; he could tell for his own folly. He shrugged nonchalant shoulders as if to say; Oh, what the hell. When in Rome.
Daniel hooked a thumb. "You want a cup of coffee, Jim?"
"I don't mind if I do," Jim graciously accepted. "Hey, little lady." He managed to get Samar's attention. "Ya'll ain't be needing me for a while, right?"
Frowning a beat, Ressler focused his own attention on the inquiry. "Uh... no, but uh," he wiped the dirt off his face, "if you could, uh, stay in the area to give a statement? Close like?"
"Yeah, sure. I can do that." Jim grimaced at the stuttered response. He leaned, confiding in Daniel. "That boy don't talk too good, does he." There was a worried look on the still handsome face.
Biting back a laugh, Daniel shook his head. "No, sir. He sure don't."
Removing his ball cap, Jim smiled. "If you'll pardon my forwardness for using your Christian name and whatnot," his eyes softened on Liz, "you get better now, Elizabeth." He smiled a sincere smile. "Your man here needs you in tiptop shape."
"You give our best to your Muriel, Jim." Red smiled right back. "I would love to meet her one day."
"Maybe your people can come down for the annual Chili cook-ff." Jim brightened at the thought. "It coincides with our State Fair most years, but cause of Milly Parkins being sick and Tom Byer's barn, ironically... blown down by the last explosion we had here? We had to postpone that time around."
"We're there." Red promised with a firm handshake. "You just let us know when."
Liz smiled prettily. "This has been a very nice day, hasn't it."
Jim and Red exchanged thoughtful glances. "That stuff they give you makes you feel downright nice inside, don't it, Elizabeth."
"It surely does, Jim." Liz sighed happily, lying back on the pillows afforded her. "It most surely does." She teased, for they actually had actually only numbed the area. She hoped the pain pills were soon on the horizon.
"Me and my unit used to smoke that marijuana out of the barrels of our rifles in Nam." Jim made mention. "Doesn't have quite the same kick as the meds they gave us, but it'll get a man where he needs to be, rest assured." He nodded sagely.
Red's eyes softened. "I'll be seeing you before we leave, Jim. Once again, thank you for all your assistance today. It was greatly appreciated."
"Weren't nothing." Jim was slightly embarrassed, dismissing the praise as was his way.
Red climbed into the ambulance, taking Lizzy's hand in his. "It was something." He assured quietly. "Something I won't ever forget."
LIZZINGTON
Slowly opening his eyes, Vladimir Vitsin sensed a disturbance of sorts. He could not have said, at the time...what sort exactly?
Squinting into the darkened room, he focused on familiar objects such as his jacket, which he had slung over the wingback chair by his bed, a vase on the corner table with its Edwardian design. He hated that thing, always had.
His eyes slowly traveled the shadows of the room. Nothing seemed out of place. He didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. But there was something out of the ordinary.
The man's eyes shifted carefully to the side drawer of the table beside the bed. It was where he kept his weapon. He was cursing himself now for such a stupid blunder on his part. That drawer seemed a hundred meters off right about now.
What was it then, exactly, that woke him from a sound sleep and now hung like a specter in the still of the oppressive air surrounding him.
Suddenly, what sounded like metallic cards shuffling broke the silence.
Vitsin knew that sound. His skin prickled, and he began to sweat. That was the sound of a hammer being slowly pulled back on some kind of deadly weapon.
"Who is there?" He tried valiantly to keep the rising fear from his voice.
Silence answered back.
"Do you know who I am?" He grimaced, for the edge was definitely apparent now. He slowly wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip, careful not to make any threatening moves. "What the hell do you want?" Vitsin cursed, hating to be found at such a disadvantage.
The room seemed to shrink in upon itself, but still there was only the eerie silence to keep the man company.
"If it's money, that isn't any problem." He tried to appear nonchalant. "I am somewhat impressed that you obviously have been able to somehow get past my guards. Which shows remarkable ingenuity on your part, granted."
Vitsin's eyes searched frantically for the other presence in the room, but the shadows hid much. "I'm always searching for good men. Perhaps we could discuss a possible..."
The man was stalling for time; he knew. Once he could get this fucker on his own terms, the intruder was dead...clear and simple. Nor would Vladimir allow the transgression to go unpunished. This bastard would be made an example for anyone else stupid enough to try the same thing on any future date.
"...Affiliation?" Vitsin was warming to the out-and-out lie himself. "And as I said, price is no object when it comes to acquiring skilled, competent men to work for my organization."
"I wouldn't work for your organization for all the shit-on-a-shingle the Army serves in a year's time."
Vitsin's face registered shock, then fury.
Reaching for the bedside lamp, he turned the knob, bathing the room in dim ambiance. Vitsin immediately shifted his attention to a man sitting in the dark recesses just opposite his bed.
"I always thought it was overly dramatic when Red did this shit," Silas shook a sorrowful head. "He has a flare for the dramatic, as you might have noted. But now...I kinda get where he's coming from."
Shifting his attention to the firearm resting against the man's knee, Vitsin remained still.
Sighing heavily, Silas sat forward, giving the man a perturbed look. "Do you have any idea just how easy it was to penetrate your so-called defenses? I feel shame for you. I really do."
Vitsin listened carefully for any sign of someone...anyone who could come offer aid in this insidious situation.
"I personally, shall put a bullet into the skull of any and all those who have failed me, rest assured." He smiled unpleasantly. "Do not concern yourself with my employee problem. It will be handled."
"I should hope so," Silas sat back, cocking his head thoughtfully. "I thought you were smarter than you so obviously are." The disdain was clear. "Talk about amateur operations..."
Vitsin took the insult in his stride. "As I said, such matters will be put to rights." Truth was, finding this man in his bedroom, in the dead of night with his supposed security surrounding the place... well, it unsettled him. The fact would bother him for days, he knew. "Have you come to kill me?"
"You make my mouth water." Silas lifted his brows slightly. "Truthfully? I haven't decided yet."
"But you felt the need to come."
"Well, see." Silas arose slowly, coming to his full height. He sauntered across the room, looking out over the Russian skyline. "We have some unfinished business, you and me. I dislike unfinished business. But I'm not sure you're worth the price of one of the bullets I use." He glanced back casually. "Especially with the way the economy is today."
"You are amusing." The Russian waited patiently, for he knew his time would come.
"The real reason is a lot more simple." Silas had glanced at his watch. "My business in this beautiful country is done. I have things in the states I gotta do." Those grey eyes were turned on the other occupant of the room. "Oh, and thanks for not saying stupid things like, my men will hunt you down or you'll rue the day you were born for daring to intrude upon my private space...I really hate clichés, don't you?"
Vitsin spread his hands apologetically. "Surely such things need not be actually stated. They are implied, da?"
Silas smiled. "This can all be handled civilly." The weapon motioned slightly with the man's speech. "So... here's what we're gonna do."
Vitsin lifted his head, a thousand vile things fleeting inside his active brain on just how much pain he could cause this smarmy, overly confident jerk were he to really set his mind to the project.
Silas motioned to the closed entrance to the bedroom. "I'm going to walk out that door over there, hop on my plane and leave this Godforsaken hell hole, and you..." the pleasant smile had returned, "are going to let me without interference. Should I tell you why?"
Casually reaching for his water, Vladimir attempted indifference. "You won't make it out of the building." He swallowed slowly, sitting the glass aside. "Let alone...to the airport."
Tapping his gun against his thigh, Silas sighed heavily. "Now see, there are those pesky cliches. Never mind the fact, I made it into the building and am now standing in your bedroom." The large guard grimaced slightly. "And there seems to be no security coming to your rescue. And still, you insist upon this bravado. Why is that, anyway?"
Vitsin felt a little foolish at this point, his expression giving the fact away.
"Is it just something your type feel you have to do to make the Universe fall into place again?"
"So, tell me why, please." Vladmir could stand the degradation no longer. "I will allow you to leave without any repercussions? I am so sorry to have gotten you off track back there. I wait with bated breath, as the poets say."
"You got an attitude problem, man. Just saying." Silas walked leisurely to the edge of the bed. He stood for a long moment, simply looking down at his adversary. "I tried for diplomacy, but as the way of the world goes...it's failed." He shrugged those massive shoulders. "I expected nothing less, so I suppose it's time to resort to those theatrics I mentioned earlier in our lively conversation." He lifted the weapon, sighing heavily. "Besides... I don't have time to deal with this shit."
Scowling, Vitsin braced himself. "You had best make it good. You will look over your shoulder until the day I kill you otherwise."
"My god." Silas' head fell back, and he groaned bleakly. "You had to say it or die...didn't you!" He snapped his growing pique. "Of course I would make it good, you blithering idiot. I'm a professional. It's what I do! There would be no future for you, therefore...no looking back over my shoulder!" The large man was beside himself, his hand lifting theatrically. "I feel like shooting you just for that stupid statement!"
Vitsin had the grace to feel bad about his part in the farce, his expression one of genuine embarrassment.
"We had a conversation a goodly while back on one of our memorable meetings. I recall it like it was just yesterday." Silas brought matters back on track. "I promised you something, if I remember correctly. I've come to deliver the goods."
The weapon was once again raised, but this time, there was no hesitation or speech. Silas shot the man's middle toe without even a by your leave.
Yelping painfully, Vitsin grabbed his foot in hand, squeezing it hard in his grasp. Lunging for the dresser, he hissed as a searing jolt tore through the shattered bones.
"Oh, here, let me get that for you." Silas stepped forward, pressing an inset button on the tabletop. He raised his bulk, seeking the withering man out. "Your help should be here any second now." Vitsin was reassured. "You can show them my calling card." He motioned to the bloodied foot.
Turning on his heel, Silas bent, picking up a pillow that had fallen to the floor. Tossing it on the bed, he continued on his way.
"I'm going to go out that door over there." He gave a lazy salute with his weapon before stepping the space needed. "It's the same one I came through earlier, by the way. The one you said I would never make it out of?"
Glaring at the man, Vitsin growled his frustration and pain.
"No, no... let me say it for you. I know the script by heart after so many years of dealing with you morons." Silas halted his steps to hold up a staying hand. "I'm going to rue the day I was born, right?" He asked politely. "You're going to hunt me down to the ends of the earth...you'll make me pay for this atrocity. Any other platitude I've forgotten?"
Vitsin groaned his misery, nothing more.
"Well, if any come to mind...text me." Silas disappeared from sight, calling back over his shoulder. "I'm listed in the yellow pages under, who gives a fuck."
It seemed an eternity before security came busting through the opposite doorway, clearing the suite in seconds.
"Find him!" Vitsin ordered, gesturing maniacally to his stunned men. "He's still on the property!" He demanded, hastily giving a description of his assailant. "Bring the fucker to me! I want his..." The man stopped abruptly realizing...
He settled, closing his eyes. "...Fucking cliches." Vladimir muttered dejectedly. "More fucking cliches."
His men looked at him as if they should get immediate medical assistance.
"Never fucking mind." Vitsin realized. "He's gone."
Stepping down to the first floor, Silas slowly poked his head around the corner, watching security rush about just as he expected them to do. He eased out of the corridor, casually making his way to the front entrance.
"Typical." Silas groused, then pulled his phone free. He waited patiently; his steps unhurried as he crossed the wide expanse of street.
"Justin... we have twenty minutes, tops, to get to the airport and in the air." He advised as he walked casually to the car. "Get it done."
"Sure..." Justin shrugged. "You're the big cheese, numero uno...the big Kahun–"
"Shut up and listen." Silas pulled the car away from the curb, entering the flow of traffic smoothly. "I'm on my way. I want everything loaded and ready to taxi upon my arrival."
"Did you avoid trouble with our friends from the other night?"
"For the most part." Silas didn't see the need for a long explanation.
A swarm of cop cars came careening around the corner, their high pitch wail of sirens grew loud as he pulled away from the stoplight.
"That for you?" Justin chuckled.
"Let's just say, we've worn out our welcome in Mother Russia."
"I was just beginning to get used to the borsht." Justin shook a sorrowful head. "Any instructions for David?"
"No." He said, then remembered something vital. "Hey, wait!" Silas called out before Justin could hang up. "Tell him to grab that bag of cookies Nora made off my bedside table before you go!"
"What do you take us for?" Justin took offense. "Amateurs?" He hung up with a resounding click.
Silas glanced at his phone, then put the object into the inside pocket of his coat. "Everyone takes offense so easily here. I'm glad I'm going home where everyone takes offense, all the time... at everything under the sun."
He pulled his phone back out, hitting number one.
"Hey, baby." He settled back for the ride to the airport. "What are you wearing?"
Samar Navabi's sensual chuckle made his cock thicken and grow with anticipation.