Michael and Robert had just finished a sandwich at the deli up the street from the office. The television in the corner of the room was tuned into the CNN network and they saw the arrival of the Saudi jet. Bishara would be there to meet his Prince ... and then Robert's cell phone rang.

"It's Rebecca," he said, answering the call. He listened for a moment and then looked up at Michael with a smile. "We have him."

FBI agents had been placed in all of the food service departments of the four hotels and the two restaurants within a stone's throw of the Hilton, and the surveillance paid off. The call from Johnson was a pleasant surprise and Rebecca was plainly excited when they hurried back into the office.

"He's armed, Johnson says," Rebecca told them. "This is going to be a tough nut to crack ... how are we going to take him?"

"We are not going to take him ... I am," Michael said.

"By yourself ... are you crazy?"

"Yes, Rebecca ... I am."

"We don't need Viktor anymore, Terrance is dead," Robert said.

"Ah, yes ... but what about Plan B?"

"You still think there is a Plan B?"

"Viktor is our only hope of discovering if there is. You go barging in there in a blaze of gunfire and we'll never find out until it's too late."

Rebecca looked back and forth between the two men. "But you thought Viktor would have a Plan B, and if he's eliminated ... ?"

"But what if we're wrong ... what if there is another assassin? Let me go talk to him."

"Why would he talk to you?" Robert asked.

"It's just a feeling I have, and he doesn't know about Terrance. He hasn't committed a crime here yet, maybe I can turn him."

"He shot our agent in Georgetown," Rebecca said.

"That was the other guy, Aleksey Klimenko," Robert said. "You think we should offer him immunity ... what has he got to trade?"

"Perhaps he knows the rest of the Kingpins ... let me talk to him."

"I could get in so much trouble if something happens to you ... "

"Keep your team ready to breach the door if you hear a shot, but I don't think you'll need them."

"How will you get in?" Rebecca asked.

"I'll just call his room and tell him I'm outside the door. We have the upper hand and he knows it."

The FBI vehicle took them back over to Connecticut Avenue where Robert assembled his team in the alley behind the building. Michael rode the lobby elevator to the seventh floor while Robert and his six men rode the freight elevator at the back. It was only a short walk down the hall to 712 where Michael opened his phone and called the front desk.

"Hello, Room 712, please."

The agents in place at the hotel had quietly removed the Italian gentleman from Room 710 and Room 714 was empty. The elevators were manned by agents, there would be no one else allowed to enter the seventh floor.

Three rings ... and a woman with a German accent answered. "Yes?"

"Hello, Viktor ... its Michael ... may I come in?"

Silence, and then Viktor sighed. "You are good, very good."

"You knew we were all around you. I would just like to talk."

"I'm armed ... "

"Of course you are, but I am not," Michael said. "This is just to talk about the possibilities, and I have some news for you."

Michael waited and he heard the bolt snap on the lock. He looked back at Robert and nodded before he pushed the door open. Viktor was standing there in a hotel robe, the pistol held out in a shooters stance. Michael opened his jacket and lifted the hem, turning around so that Viktor could see there was no pistol hidden in back.

Viktor lowered his Glock and turned towards the living room. Michael shut the door and followed.

"It was that room service waiter," Viktor said.

"FBI agent," Michael replied.

Viktor set the pistol down on the coffee table and dropped onto the couch. Michael smiled and sat across from him in a comfortable chair.

"So what is this news?" Viktor asked.

"Terrance is dead. Saudi intelligence caught up with him in Dubai."

Viktor nodded. "I knew something had happened. Then you know why I was sent here. Did you come to arrest me?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't arrest people, you know me better than that."

Viktor thought for a minute. "This was an impossible task to begin with, but Terrance insisted."

"I figured you didn't want the job and that's why your entrance was hardly a secret. You put on a good show, but perhaps that was just for anyone else watching. There are others, aren't there? You did have a Plan B."

Viktor smiled. "I told Terrance if you became involved we would fail." And then his smile faded. "Why are you here?"

"The FBI wanted to break down the door and start a gunfight, at least until I mentioned that you have not committed a crime ... yet. Your presence is illegal and at this point I think the worst that would happen is that they could deport you, but I don't think you want that either.

"The Russians would certainly be looking for you and I don't think they would be willing to forgive. But we don't have a working extradition agreement with them. Interpol wants you and yet the one country where you came to kill someone doesn't have a good reason to arrest you. I think you can make a deal at this point."

Viktor laughed. "There can be no deal, I am a dead man."

"I've thought that myself on occasion, but here I am. You have something we want, Viktor."

"Plan B."

"Yes ... who is the other man?"

"Before I tell you his name you need to know why I won't shoot this Prince, but he will," Viktor said. "You know my background in the Spetsnaz. I imagine my training was much like yours except we are forced to absorb a good deal of political nonsense.

"For much too long the Russian government has flirted with the idea of an alliance with certain enemies only because your country didn't like them. Iran was such a nation and we came very close to giving them nuclear weapons to use against you and your allies, the Israelis and the Saudis.

"There is of course no dealing with the religious leadership in Iran. Fanatics do not make good allies and their civil government is only a tool of the mullahs. So instead of the bomb we sent them the technology to build reactors knowing full well that in time they would develop their own weapons.

"But Iran exports Islamic terrorism and when the mullahs gave their blessing and much needed cash to certain groups the Russian government backed away. One such group attacked the Oil Ministry in Azerbaijan and took hostages. A Spetsnaz unit was sent in to restore order and created an even worse mess.

"I was part of an Alpha Unit within Spetsnaz but far above their skill set, we were very much like your Unit 4." Viktor smiled. "Perhaps you did not know we were aware of your unit."

Michael smiled. "Doesn't matter ... our objective was never to be in a combat role against you."

"The same for us," Viktor said. "My team was sent after the terrorist leader in Azerbaijan. I had strict orders that he was not to survive ... " The features on Viktor's face sagged and even through the makeup Michael could tell this was a story with a very bad ending.

"I killed his entire family," Viktor said. "I did not use caution and fired too soon. His wife, two daughters, and his young son all died because I did not follow my instincts. The orders came from my commander, and I am sure you know what I did to him."

"A tragedy," Michael said. "I imagine it still haunts you."

"The Saudi Prince arrived with his wife and family. I cannot take the chance of repeating the mistake. Everything considered ... there is no reason to kill him. I certainly won't be getting paid for the job. I am sure you must regret something you have done so much that it keeps your finger off the trigger."

"I have ... and Terrance was the cause. I suppose if the Saudis hadn't killed him I would have. How did he get his claws in you?"

Viktor sat back on the couch and sighed. "I was a trained killer with no future. From what I was told you were much the same. We are what we are, a tool to be used, but like most we need money to survive. I have never had a normal job ... it would drive me insane."

"And yet many think we are insane, Viktor. I could not explain my feelings to someone else, although perhaps you would understand." Michael looked at his watch knowing that the microphone embedded in it was broadcasting everything they said to Robert standing out in the hallway.

"You have somewhere to go?" Viktor asked.

"No ... except I don't know how long it will take us to remove your Plan B."

"Yes ... sorry, we need to negotiate my surrender."

"I'd rather think of it as your defection," Michael said. "Men like us do not willingly surrender, we need a reason."

"So ... how is this drama supposed to end?" Viktor asked.

"I open the door and let the FBI take you into custody. We go sit in a conference room and you tell us about the other man and we go get him. They won't treat you badly I suppose. Other than this kill assignment you have much in the way of intelligence my people might like to know."

"I will not be deported?"

"I think not, but it all depends upon what you tell them. There are still a handful of these Kingpins out there left over from the organization. Terrance's removal will not stop their activities ... there might even be a reward for the information you have."

Viktor smiled. "I will go with you ... but first I must get out of this silly disguise."

"I was going to mention that. You assume the role of a woman quite well. Who is Frau Leibowitz?"

"My neighbor in Berlin. Such a nice lady, I hope she will forgive me."

Viktor stood up and looked down at the pistol on the table. He picked it up and ejected the magazine, jacking the slide and emptying the chamber. He set everything back on the table and walked away towards the bedroom.

"I have a gift for you," Viktor said as Michael followed along. "I was going to leave it on the roof and it would be a shame to have it destroyed, perhaps your unit can make use of it."

He opened one of the suitcases sitting on the bed and Michael saw a real gem, a piece of sniper lore. The Russians had made the Dragunov SVD their premier sniper rifle back in Soviet times, but this one looked like a relic.

"It was hand-made forty years ago and it even has the date stamped on the butt plate. The wood is walnut, and as you see I have taken very good care of it. Perhaps the FBI will let you keep it."

Viktor pulled off the wig and washed his face at the sink, the towel he used was slightly painted with the makeup when he was done. Within minutes he was dressed in casual clothing and the woman's wear was in a pile on the floor.

"I'm ready ... will this be difficult for your friends outside?"

"Just a normal arrest of an unarmed man, you can expect handcuffs," Michael said.

"I will not resist," Viktor said.

Michael opened the door and Robert's team moved swiftly inside, weapons at the ready. Viktor raised his hands and turned around, placing his hands behind him. Robert snapped on the handcuffs.

"Viktor Markov, I'm placing you under arrest ... for the moment," Robert said, and then he looked at Michael.

"We have a deal and he won't resist," Michael said. "The cuffs have to come off after we reach the office."

"I don't know what my boss will say ... "

"He has to agree otherwise this will become a matter for military intelligence. That won't serve your department well. All those man hours and nothing to show for them." Michael smiled and put a hand on Viktor's shoulder. "Let's give him a chance to talk."

The group assembled in the conference room this time was tense. Perhaps it was the presence of the Assistant Director of the FBI, Robert's boss, or the fact that they had less than twenty-four hours to catch the Plan B assassin. Only Michael and Viktor seemed relaxed as they sat drinking coffee at one end of the table.

AD Alan Plum didn't look happy as he leaned over to share that feeling with Robert. "I don't like letting the man walk away from this. He's part of an international conspiracy and the Russians are going to go ballistic when they find out we have him."

"Think of this as a plea bargain," Robert said. "His guilt on lesser charges will mitigate any incarceration time if we haul in this new assassin ... "

There was a commotion at the door and in walked Bishara, resplendent in his traditional Saudi throbe. Robert and the AD stood up, but Bishara only had eyes for Viktor.

"I was informed that you caught the assassin ... you did not call me," he said.

"I thought you were busy with the Prince," Robert said, but Bishara waved him off.

"We will take custody of this man ... " Bishara began to say.

"No," Michael said. "You have no jurisdiction here ... sit down and behave."

Bishara looked like he could kill Michael for saying that, but he thought a moment and took a seat.

"Viktor is about tell us who the man is in their Plan B," Michael said. "But first he needs assurances that he will not be deported ... "And again the door opened admitting Saunders and Ducky to the room. Now Michael stood up in respect for the uniforms.

"We're just here to observe," Saunders said.

"Who are you?" AD Plum asked.

"I'm here representing Homeland Security," Saunders said and Plum immediately knew he was outranked. Bishara looked amused and nodded to Michael.

"Please tell us the name of this individual," Bishara requested.

"Mohammed El-Hashem," Viktor said. "I am sure Colonel Bishara knows that name."

"You know the Colonel?" Michael asked.

"Oh yes, he is well known to the Spetsnaz intelligence section ... and El-Hashem was one of his operatives."

Bishara looked defeated and slowly shook his head. "This is true ... we had a traitor in our midst. He is under a death sentence in my country but he escaped prison before he could be executed."

"He will be here posing as a journalist for Al Jazeera," Viktor said. "His assignment is to infiltrate the crowd surrounding the Prince and shoot him inside the lobby if the sniper attack fails. At least this is what Terrance told me," Viktor said.

"But why would he tell you those plans?" Michael asked.

Viktor shrugged. "Perhaps to make me shoot straight, but more likely to urge me to kill for the million dollar bonus the killer is promised. El-Hashem will not know of Terrance's fate and that the money is no longer available."

"Is he a fool? Doesn't he know with all the security we have in place that this is a suicide mission?" Robert asked.

Viktor looked at Bishara. "The man is a terrorist and knows he will not survive. He will go to Allah and has asked Terrance to give the money to his brother in Iran. You see, El-Hashem's brother is a member of the Iranian government and is working for the Kingpins as you call them."

"There's an Iranian connection?" AD Plum asked.

"Yes, they chose this target to disrupt the Saudi oil industry and get someone more favorable in his place."

"So El-Hashem will attempt to assassinate the Prince. Do you know how?" Michael asked.

"As you said, security will be tight. Dogs would detect a suicide vest laden with explosives and El-Hashem knows he will have to get close. Terrance has provided a weapon ... do you know the Liberator?"

"The Allies provided those to the Resistance in World War Two. It was just a cheap one shot pistol ... but it was metal," Ducky said.

"And now they are all plastic except for the cartridge and the firing pin, virtually undetectable," Viktor said. "The piece was made with a 3-D printer by the Iranians who stole the computer program from an American at the University of Texas ... they have some very clever hackers."

"One shot ... do you know the caliber?" Michael asked.

".380 ... it would have to be used close up."

There was silence in the room as everyone considered the facts.

Robert looked at Bishara. "Can you provide us with his picture?"

"I already have it," Ducky said, pressing the Wi-Fi link on his I-Pad and a photo appeared on the large monitor screen attached to the wall. A well-dressed man, suit and tie, he could pass for a journalist.

"So ... how are we going to stop this son of a bitch?" Saunders said.

Michael looked over at Bishara. "Colonel Bishara and I will come up with a plan, but he will have to get the Prince to agree."

It was eight o'clock in the morning as Robert stood in the circular driveway in front of the Hilton's lobby. As predicted the sky was overcast and the light showers the weatherman had promised them had drifted in and out of the Washington area all morning long. That put a smile on Robert's face ... perhaps this plan would work.

The attendees for the conference would pass through the doors and turn right towards the metal detectors. Everyone would have to pass through those portals where purses and briefcases would be searched ... the crowd expected it.

But that would not begin until nine o'clock since the conference was not due to open until ten. Some of the attendees were staying in the hotel but when they reached the lobby level and exited the elevators they would have to pass through the portals. It would slow things down and Robert knew that was a good thing.

They had not found El-Hashem ... he was not staying at the hotel. Two of the television trucks had taken up position out on T Street at the curb, their satellite masts already reaching for the sky. The only people wandering the street this morning were on their way to work in the many office buildings along Connecticut Avenue, but some of them were undercover FBI agents.

Robert had been startled when a bucket truck pulled up on the Columbia Road access way beside the small George B. McClellan Park on Connecticut Avenue. Two National Parks employees had been assigned to pressure wash the bird droppings off the statue, but several agents were sent to dissuade them. They were told to come back tomorrow, so they packed up and left.

Any distraction at all was to be avoided this morning. It was bad enough that the hotel had regular guests moving about, the number of attendees and staff would be close to a hundred. Uniforms from the D.C. Metropolitan Police were already standing around down on T Street ready to direct traffic. When the limousines began to arrive it would all be chaos, just what El-Hashem needed.

Bishara had met with the Prince after the conference with Viktor. The name El-Hashem did not frighten the man enough to accede to the plan Michael and Bishara had cooked up. Bishara called Michael, Michael called Saunders, and an hour later the Prince was told he had a phone call.

"Yes?" The Prince said into the receiver.

"Your Highness ... this is the President of the United States ... I have a favor to ask of you."

The Prince was not happy about it, but he agreed that the safety of the other individuals attending the conference was the overriding factor, he would follow the plan. The media would be unaware of what they were going to do Bishara had assured him. He trusted the Colonel and perhaps it was time for a promotion. And while he was listening to boring speeches all day his family would be off enjoying the sights of the American capital. Perhaps he could take Ashaz to see the Air and Space museum this evening after all the fuss was over, his son would love that place.

By nine o'clock several dozen members of the media had begun to arrive and register at the counter provided in the lobby. The young lady who sat behind that counter was an agent, as were the two porters with dustpans and brooms prowling the baseboards of the lobby. The gentleman from Al-Jazeera had already checked in, but it was not the face of El-Hashem.

As the clock ticked onwards towards ten o'clock the crowd of attendees began to arrive. Limousines from the Dutch, German and French embassies arrived and disgorged several ministers and their secretaries. Doormen opened the car doors and the drivers remained behind the wheel to immediately keep the line moving.

"Five minutes," a voice said in Robert's earpiece. "Just crossing N Street."

The Prince's limo and escort would turn north on 20th Street to avoid DuPont Circle, and then would proceed up Connecticut Avenue to the hotel entrance. Robert looked around, still trying to spot El-Hashem. Two Arab gentlemen in flowing robes walked through the far side of the checkpoint and into the main lobby. Robert knew one of them on sight but neither were the expected assassin ... .they didn't even know how the man was going to dress.

The media pool was standing back from the lobby doors, roped off from reaching the attendees as they alighted from the cars. Television crews and photographers had already begun taking their footage of the European ministers, but all awaited the arrival of the Arabs.

The Washington Post newspaper had run an article about the conference in this morning's edition. Stock photos of the Saudi King and the Prince right on the front page, and a lot of words about the price of oil falling. There was little speculation about what would occur at the conference but the media was hungry for some information about what was going to occur inside.

A small pool of photographers had been vetted to enter the conference and take photos before it began, but then they would be shooed back outside. Perhaps El-Hashem would come with a camera, but Michael had disagreed.

"He will need both hands to do his job. He will have an electronic device of some kind which he will probably explain is for taking notes. But Viktor had a support team for the setup and they are probably watching the Prince's movements almost as carefully as we are and broadcasting his movements by text. But El-Hashem is right handed and that is what he will use to hold and fire the pistol."

"Approaching the hotel," the voice said in Robert's earpiece ... and the rain began in earnest.

The media corps was partially under the shelter of the canopy over the lobby entrance, but not all of them. Umbrellas flashed out across the crowd as they all tried to huddle in out of the rain. An eight foot wide red carpet led from the lobby doors to the curb, but the ropes held back the observers.

More camera flashes as another limo disgorged passengers, and Robert began to search the faces in the crowd for someone he had only seen in a photo. El-Hashem must be here somewhere.

"Entering the drive," the voice said and Robert looked through the rain at the limo and black escort vehicle making their way towards the entrance ... .and then they arrived. The Prince's limo driver had avoided the line of waiting vehicles and pulled up on the outside lane across from the lobby entrance.

Doors on both vehicles opened and even before the doormen could approach with their waiting umbrellas they were waved off. The Saudi security men held large black umbrellas and quickly approached the limo, yanking open the doors. Four men emerged, all in beautiful white throbes with various colored cloaks draped around their shoulders.

The umbrellas moved in and covered the men in their twenty foot walk to reach the carpet and the overhead canopy. No doubt the sea of black umbrellas would have prevented Viktor from taking a clean shot at the Prince since even Robert could barely see the man from his position by the doors. One of the entourage held his umbrella over the figure of the Prince.

The little entourage reached the carpet and surged on towards the doors where two other Saudis stood to greet their ruler ... and then it happened. A cameraman stumbled or was pushed forward across the ropes. Several others tried to grab him but failed and the man sprawled on the carpet. It was then a nicely dressed man sprang over the prone body and sped towards the Prince.

The security men were hampered with their umbrellas as the man reached his target and thrust forth a black pistol which exploded with a loud crack. The Prince seemed to stumble but then he reached out and grabbed the man as one of the others in Arab robes pulled the assassin away and Robert heard the familiar snapping buzz of a Taser discharge.

The moment brought chaos to the media crowd but then FBI agents appeared to materialize from everywhere and shielded the Prince. Robert and two of his team members grabbed the assassin and dragged his limp body into the lobby and further on to the office behind the registration counter. It was all over in seconds.

The Saudi entourage hustled through the doors where umbrellas were cast aside. Michael handed the Taser to an agent as Bishara pulled open his robes to reveal the armored vest he was wearing. The Prince handed his umbrella to a guard and embraced Bishara.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"It stings a bit, Your Highness."

"You are a brave man, Bishara. He did think you were me as you expected," the Prince said.

"We made him think so, Highness. You acted your part very well."

"It is nothing ... even a member of the royal family knows how to carry an umbrella. We shall talk about the future when this day is over. Now I must attend this conference." And with that he turned away and surrounded by his secretary and four guards he moved towards the hallway.

"Stings? I'll bet you have one hell of a bruise tomorrow," Michael said.

"I have been shot before as you well know," Bishara said. He gave Michael a studied glance. "One would almost believe you could be an Arab in those clothes."

"We only had to fool one man, and we did."

The shot rang out, echoing through the trees on either side of the shooting range.

"Excellent, Mrs. Davenport ... you have a steady hand," Viktor said as she removed her ear protectors. The target was only forty feet away and an idiot could have made that shot, but he gave her a genuine smile.

The woman blushed and set the .22 rifle down on the shooting table. It wasn't often that she received such a sweet compliment from such a handsome man. She couldn't wait to tell Connie about the things she had learned this week, and every one of them had made her seem alive.

The spa experience was a gift from her brother, and after meeting some of the other ladies she understood why Mel had chosen this place. They all had husbands or family in the military, although some of the women here in these two week sessions were in the military themselves. Calling this place a spa was perhaps a misnomer. The pace every day had been grueling and very much like a boot camp.

But the setting was exciting, with beautiful sunsets across the lake and the tall snowcapped mountains in the background. The handsome men on staff were just a bonus. She had never been to Montana before but she would be recommending this place to all her friends and anyone else who would listen.

The facility in Woods Bay had everything a person might need to enjoy the intensity of a boot camp and then relax to recover from the experience. There were thirty women in cabins throughout the woods, a fixed number during this cycle of the spa. Monica had nearly collapsed during her first days, but the trainers were very good.

Hard exercise, the proper diet, and massage made her first week manageable ... and then they went hiking. The trainers seemed to be all ex-military, a tough bunch. But the women's cycle would end in just a few days and then the men would arrive just in time for hunting season.

Monica supposed that was fair since it gave the boys time to play with their guns. She would especially miss seeing Viktor who had been a complete gentleman, and that only made her desire him more every day. She wondered if he was married, but the facts about him remained elusive.

Viktor knew he could have his choice among the women clients but he had cautioned the trainers about doing that and as the boss he had to stick to his own rules. It didn't really matter since there were some fine ladies residing in the Woods Bay area.

This place was a paradise and he would be forever grateful to Michael for bringing him here and setting up the spa venture. Of course the company and the property were in Michael's name since Viktor was sure the Russians would still love to find him, but what were their chances of doing that way out here?

He watched Mrs. Davenport walk away towards the main part of the spa campus and admired her figure ... some great legs. Perhaps they might get together later since he was sure she wasn't really married. What a great place this America, he thought.

Where else could a man who killed for a living be forgiven his sins and embraced for having a change of heart? Well, a change of heart and a whole lot of information about the Kingpins had sealed the deal. Viktor had turned over the passwords he had stolen from Terrance and everything was revealed ... including all the money.

It had been three years since the events in Washington had changed his life. He would never go back to a life of killing, and neither would Michael. Hell, it was nearly July and Viktor expected Michael would arrive fairly soon, just in time to lead a men's group on a grueling hike into the mountains.

Viktor smiled as he picked up the rifle and headed across the parking lot towards the gun room. It was funny how life brought people together. He never would have thought Michael could become such a close friend, but perhaps it was because they had so much of a past in common.

A group of women in bathing suits came out of the main building and waved at him on their way to the swimming pool. Ah, such a wonderful sight to behold. This really was a great country.

Back to Chapter Eleven

Chapter Index

Chris James Home Page

"No Reason to Kill" Copyright © Chris James. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer