Kalinikov held up his hand. “Please do not act foolish, Agent Bracco.”
For some reason those words resonated with him. It was incredible how easily Nick seemed to accept his fate. There was no time to reminisce. The only thought imbedded in his mind was the image of Julie’s soft belly carrying the child he would never live to see.
The President’s speech was winding down. His tone seemed to contain resolve, a commodity which Nick was lacking at the moment. He wasn’t even sure he could get up without help, never mind mount a successful attack against a professional assassin.
Kalinikov leaned over and turned off the radio. “There’s too much hate in the world.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s why people like me exist, huh?” He pulled a pair of purple gloves from his pocket and began to stretch them on his hands.
“I tagged your vehicles with a GPS device as soon as I drove into town. I thought your technology person would have discovered them.” The Russian looked over at Nick with a mixture of confusion and pity. “You knew you were a target. Yet you were so blinded by the chase, you had forgotten to check your defense. That was a mistake.”
Kalinikov gestured toward Nick’s shoulder. “Your sutures have opened up.”
Nick felt the wound and came back with bloody fingers. His mouth had dried up. He’d wondered why his assassin hadn’t killed him yet, until Kalinikov produced a metal cylinder from his jeans pocket and began screwing it on the end of his pistol.
“In all this rush, I forgot to attach my silencer,” The Russian said. “I guess we all get hasty at times, right?”
With every twist of the silencer, Nick felt the blood drain from his head. He no longer cared about the pain. What he cared about was the end. He wanted it to come quickly and give his weary mind the relief it desperately craved.
From the tunnel came a pair of footsteps rushing toward the cave. Kalinikov didn’t seem to be affected by the sound. He continued attending to his gun. A few seconds later, Temir Barzani came rushing into the room in a cloud of dust. With his pistol out, he looked at the two men. First Nick slumped on the floor, then Kalinikov sitting on the bench, putting the finishing touches on his silencer.
To Kalinikov, Barzani said, “You?” He pointed to Nick and said, “Why is he still alive?”
That’s when Kalinikov raised his gun and shot Barzani with the quickest move Nick had ever seen. A chest shot. By the amount of blood seeping through the terrorist’s shirt, it was obviously a direct hit on his heart. Not a difficult shot from the distance, but effortless and professional and with just a muted pop. Barzani’s face held the shock all the way to the floor and it never left even after his life had expired.
Kalinikov moved quicker now, getting up and rummaging his hands through Barzani’s corpse. He seemed to be finessing something from Barzani’s pocket. Finally he came up with a narrow, metallic device and gave it a careful examination before placing it on the plastic table.
“That would be the detonator,” Kalinikov said. “There is no timer, so your people should be able to defuse it rather easily.”
The Russian must’ve seen the confused look on Nick’s face. He grinned. “Barzani offered me money to kill you.” He raised his eyebrows. “But the Turkish government offered me more money to kill him. A lot more.”
Nick didn’t move. His pulse pounded through his head like a steady drumbeat. He still anticipated one more shot to be fired.
“I put a tourniquet around your partner’s leg,” Kalinikov said, casually waving his pistol in the air. “If he gets to the hospital within the hour they should be able to save it.”
Nick studied the man's movements, waiting for a quick draw and the bullet which would put him down. He was certain the assassin was just playing with him. Enjoying the kill. He forced himself to sit upright. Take it with valor.
Kalinikov put away his gun and wiped the dirt from his pants. “You are good at your job, Agent Bracco. It’s the reason I followed you. I knew you would lead me directly to him.”
The Russian scanned the room one last time. His eyes settled on Nick. “I also know you well enough to know you have no intention of going after me. It is why you are still alive. Anyone who mingles with the type of organized criminals you do, does not care about anything but the results. Besides,” he looked over at Barzani’s body. “I am now retired.”
Nick watched Kalinikov leave the cave. His footsteps became softer with every passing moment.
“Oh, one more thing,” Kalinikov’s voice echoed throughout the tunnel walls. “Please thank your cousin for the drink. He was good company.”
It wasn’t until the maintenance door slammed shut that Nick realized he was going to survive. It took another five minutes for his breathing to slow down enough for him to attempt to get to his feet. He pushed down on his good arm, then decided against it. Somehow sitting in a small cave with Temir Barzani’s decomposing corpse seemed like a satisfying place to spend a few minutes.
Chapter 30
President Merrick was back in his private office with a handful of his closest aides. The thin-screen TV on the wall was tuned to CNN and everyone had a beverage in their hand. It was the end of a long day and possibly the beginning of a long night.
Merrick sat at the end of the couch, legs crossed, reading the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The TV was almost always muted so the flow of conversation in the room wouldn’t be interrupted. Currently a commentator interviewed a Senator from Arizona who was concerned Merrick hadn’t given the KSF’s threat the respect it deserved.
“Idiot,” Merrick murmured. His left foot tapped the floor nervously while he kept glancing at the digital clock on the wall. Every minute that passed without the words ‘Breaking News’ showing up on the screen was a blessing.
He made eye contact with Fisk who stood holding a beer in his right hand and loosening his tie with his left. Fisk shook his head, letting Merrick know he hadn’t heard anything from the War Room.
Next to him, Vice President Hearns leaned over and said, “You did the right thing, John.”
Merrick nodded absently. “Tell me that after half of Arizona is underwater.”
His Press Secretary Fredrick Himes came over with his head buried in his computer tablet. “The polls are in and fifty-three percent of the population agreed with your decision. Thirty-one percent in Arizona.”
Merrick nodded. He was bombarded with statistics like that all day long and was practically immune to their relevance. He knew the poll taken tomorrow morning would be thirty points different, in either direction.
Now Fisk had a phone to his ear and nodded. “He’s right here,” Fisk said handing the phone to Merrick. He was beaming.
Merrick got up and took the phone. He instinctively walked away from the TV and sat on the corner of his desk.
“Yes,” Merrick said, expecting to hear someone from the War Room.
Instead, a voice with a distinct Turkish accent said, “Temir Barzani is dead.”
“Mr. Prime Minister?” Merrick asked.
“Yes.”
Merrick looked at the wall clock. “It’s past four in the morning over there.”
“You are quite right, Mr. President. But our alliance does not fade after working hours.”
Merrick saw Fisk on another phone call. He seemed engrossed in deep conversation. “We have no confirmation on our end Barzani is dead,” Merrick said. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have personally made certain of this. Barzani will no longer be a threat to America. I want to thank you for the speech tonight. It was gratifying to hear you offer so much support to our great nation.”
“Of course, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“We do not want to be the friend who gets the Christmas card in the mail,” Prime Minister Budarry said. “We want to be the friend who joins your holiday feast.”
Merrick smiled for the first time in days it seemed. “I’ll have a place setting reserved at our table for you.”