Show No Mercy Read online

  The gunman rose and fired back, the top of the pool table splitting open, wood shards flying everywhere. Nina slithered around on the wood floor and crawled on knees and elbows for the other pool table behind her.

  She rolled under the table, fired twice without aiming, the gunman ducking back. Then the gunman rolled out from behind and returned fire, his automatic weapon spitting flame. The table leg closest to Nina splintered, the leg falling on her head. She shook it free and scooted back as the gunman blasted the leg off to her left. The pool table toppled and crashed onto the floor. Nina leaped up and ran around the side, bringing her pistol up as the gunman also rose with his own weapon aimed at her. She started to pull the Browning’s trigger when a shotgun blast opened the side of the gunman’s head like a popped balloon. Gory skull fragments splattered and flaps of flesh dangled on the side of the man’s head. The gunman dropped. Nina lowered her gun. Dane and McConn stepped into the room.

  “I had him,” she said.

  Dane pumped the shotgun. “I’ll wait longer next time.” He winked.

  They spent the rest of the day and well into evening talking with the cops who filled the house. Squad cars and other official vehicles littered the front of the property. The trio stuck to the same story. They were catching up and suddenly the three gunmen decided to invade the home. No idea who they were, what they wanted, etc., etc., and some of the cops speculated it was drug related. McConn didn’t correct them. Memphis had a horrible drug and gang problem, so it wasn’t unrealistic. McConn told the cops the goons had picked the wrong house.

  They, of course, couldn’t stay at the house so the cops let McConn pack a few things. Dane and Nina were already packed. While the house, now a crime scene, was sealed, Dane, Nina, and McConn checked into a hotel downtown. McConn was under orders not to leave town, but he had a way around the order thanks to his lawyer, who could act as his representative while he left on a pre-scheduled business trip, i.e.: the mission with Dane. He’d need the money from the job to pay for fixing the house and pay his lawyer for fixing the cops.

  At the hotel, they ate a light dinner in the lobby restaurant.

  “Sorry we made a mess of your place,” Dane said.

  McConn waved it off. “I’ll rebuild.”

  “What do you do all day?” Nina said. “Your house was way too clean. Do you walk around with a mop and Pinesol?”

  “Do you have a problem with being orderly?”

  Nina scoffed and polished off three vodka tonics during the meal while McConn and Dane left their beers unfinished. After dinner they went up to their rooms. The rooms weren't adjoining; McConn was on the floor above Dane and Nina.

  “We start early tomorrow,” Dane told McConn as the three said good-night.

  His leg hurt a little more as he rolled out of bed.

  General Curtis Walker groaned and rubbed his left leg through pajama pants. Typical morning. His left foot was numb, but his exercises would eventually wake it up. Worst case, he had a cane leaning against the nightstand. He liked to remember he’d shot the bastard who had tossed the grenade resulting in his injury, but the thought never gave Walker any solace. The doctors had put him back together, but pieces of shrapnel remained under his skin. One of the side-effects was a temporarily numb foot, every single morning. And the chance of infection from the shrapnel. A visit to the doctor every other month helped keep an eye on that. So far, so good. He had to keep telling people the injury was the result of a car accident and not a secret mission, but little lies no longer bothered him.

  He rolled over and sat up. His wife, Penny, already started the day and he could smell coffee and bacon. He dropped to the floor, rolled onto his back and began lifting his legs and engaging in flutter kicks, locking his knees and moving his legs up and down in a scissor motion. He kept his arms stretched out beside him. Starting slowly, he eventually built some speed and worked up a bit of a sweat. He stood up, testing his left leg and when he could put his weight on his left foot comfortably, he made his way to the bathroom.

  After a shower he put on his Class A uniform and went downstairs. He used to hate those stairs. All the up and down, up and down. . . but they actually helped his leg, and now he appreciated them.

  Walker entered the kitchen, where Penny was putting breakfast on their plates.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said and kissed her.

  “Leg okay?”

  He took his place at the table. “Nothing more than usual.”

  The morning paper sat on the table. Walker looked at the front page. The latest on the bombing in San Francisco. He set the paper aside. He would have enough about the bombing and Graypoole to read about at work. He didn’t actively participate in special ops any longer, but his tasks at the Pentagon still involved secret work. He was in charge of the Pentagon’s office of army intelligence. He rode a desk and kept up-to-date on operations carried out by others and it made him feel useless. The office job gave him not only his one-star status but the opportunity to retire with thirty-five years, and he wanted his full pension more than action. But the routine wore him down. He often wondered if he should have taken retirement early, but it was too late to make a change. He had to fulfill the commitment.

  Penny came over to the table with Walker’s eggs and bacon and a bowl of fruit and set them down in front of him. He said thank you and started eating.

  They had designed the kitchen themselves when purchasing the house. Penny had wanted everything big. Lots of room for company and family. Walker’s contribution had been a small nook for a table and bench seats in a corner. An intimate place for meals when it was only them, which it had been, off and on, when their daughters were in college. Now the girls were well beyond college, so it had been only them for the last few years. It had been hard to adjust and both were looking forward to a long vacation with the girls.

  “There are only a few days left until we leave for Rome,” Penny said with a smile. She sipped her coffee. Most of her black hair was gray now, but some of the original color held on for dear life. Her nose always crinkled when she smiled, but now there were a few extra wrinkles mixed it.

  They’d been married almost forty years, but mornings hadn’t always been this peaceful. When the kids were growing up, mornings were quite chaotic. Both girls were on their own, neither married yet, but both had growing careers.

  “The girls seem really excited,” Walker said as he ate a piece of bacon.

  “So am I. Are you?”

  The general wasn’t known for his effervescent personality.

  “Yes,” he said. “Won’t hurt to get away from the office after the last few days.”

  “You’re not going to read the paper?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve had enough bad news.”

  After breakfast he helped with the dishes and kissed Penny goodbye. Walker drove with a cup of coffee in his hand and the radio tuned to the local sports station where he listened to the chatter about the previous night’s Redskins game. He approached the check-point to the Pentagon’s south parking lot and stopped. The guard on-duty checked his ID. Always the same guard, always the same routine. “Good morning, General. Go on through.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Walker headed into the lot and eased the Lincoln into his assigned spot. He downed the rest of his coffee and set his mug on the passenger seat. The battered brown leather briefcase he had used since his command of the First Special Forces Battalion sat in the back seat. The case had seen more action and more secrets than he had, it seemed. He reached back and grabbed it.

  The sprawling five-sided building with the Potomac on the other side towered high above him as he walked through the front glass doors. It wasn’t an impressive or even imposing sight. It looked like a regular office building.

  “Morning, General,” the guard at the front desk said. The sign-in book was open to a blank page. A pen lay next to it. Walker signed his name and stepped into the elevator behind the desk.

  The General e
ntered his office five minutes later and his assistant, Sergeant First Class Julie Fisher, held up some mail. “These came in for you, sir.”

  “What are they?” He took the offered envelopes.

  “Evaluation reports, I believe. I put some memos on your desk, too. Also, General Taylor made an appointment to see you later this afternoon around three-thirty. He said it concerns the upcoming joint exercise between us and Britain next month.”

  Walker nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He entered his office and sat down behind his desk. The window behind him looked out over the river. It was a nice perk. He set the mail on his desk and glanced at the calendar near a lamp. Only a few more days. A few more very long days.

  12

  Kassandra Ramos parted the curtains and looked at the porch.

  The kitty cat, with its rear end high, ate eagerly from the bowl of dry food she had put out, crunching and swallowing probably a little too fast, but Kassandra wasn’t about to go out and disturb the animal.

  “Kassandra.”

  She turned. Ramos stood near the hallway, jacket on, briefcase in hand.

  “Forget the cat. We need to get going before we spend all day in traffic.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said. “You can turn it off once in a while, you know.”

  She brushed past him and went down the hall.

  Ramos drove, his concentration once again one-hundred percent on the road. Kassandra reviewed some notes she had made the night before.

  The wet mist still hung in the air and the clouds remained with the ominous threat of a sudden downpour, but as they turned off Highway 5 and proceeded to the corner of Pike and 7th Ave., none of the rain emerged.

  Traffic wasn’t bad and Ramos stopped briefly for the light at Pike and 7th before making a right turn, then another left. A second left brought them to the garage entrance of the Washington State Convention Center. The steel-and-glass structure, with concrete support columns at each corner, occupied the whole block, the windows reflecting the gloomy skies, almost multiplying the dreariness. Across the street were the Hyatt and Roosevelt Hotels.

  Ramos took a parking ticket from the automatic machine, the blocking bar lifted, and they found a spot in the sparsely populated garage. Both exited without a word and quickly made their way back to the street, the polished cement floor clean of tire streaks or oil spots. They followed the sidewalk around the corner to the front of the convention center.

  They stood to one side as other pedestrians went by. Nobody gave them a second look. Traffic moved briskly. Kassandra consulted her notes.

  “It’s all here,” she said.

  Ramos studied the scenery. “Shops and restaurants all around, plenty of people. This is a good spot.”

  “Can we go inside?”

  “I’m sure it’s open.”

  They went up the steps of the convention center and Ramos held the door open for his wife. The glass door shut behind them and blocked out most of the outside noise. A heater’s hum filled the interior, which was toasty warm compared with the outside chill. Their shoes tapped on the tiled floor as they wandered through the lobby. The walls were made of tiered levels of glass. Beyond the glass, an outdoor area full of green hedgerows and trees. They crossed to a display beside an empty reception desk and read the list of the upcoming events:

  International Conference on Robotics & Automation

  May 24th - May 31st

  Law Seminars Int'l: Hydrology and the Law

  May 29th

  Symposium on Cyber Security

  June 6th

  “D-Day,” Kassandra said.

  Ramos smiled. “I’m sure Graypoole enjoys the irony.”

  The symposium wasn’t simply on cyber security, but an opportunity for the top CEOs and leaders in the industry to display their latest and greatest products.

  In other words, the perfect target. Ramos would like nothing better than to see a bunch of tech leaders dead in the street. They all seemed to believe they were gods, yielding power at will, when they were only a step or two above the average mindless rat who depended on them for sustenance. Tech CEOs, with their inflated egos, loved the attention, loved being treated like a god, thriving in the spotlight as their minions knelt before their brilliance. Like all religions, it was fake. The only religion worthy of the name, of devotion, was the People. Tech leaders had no interest in people. They were interested only in erasing people and replacing them with machines. They wanted to enslave the people by forcing them to spend money on their widgets and doo-dads, creating a dependence upon machines and gadgets, which added nothing to their quality of life and, in fact, stole from it.

  Ramos would take great delight in destroying them all, watching as their smug expressions vanished in a flash of violence. He and Kassandra continued their self-guided tour but didn’t see any convention center staff. A set of open doors led to one of the concourse areas where a group of people in street clothes were setting up tables and displays for the robotics conference.

  Back outside, Kassandra shivered. She zipped up her coat.

  “No office or security staff,” Ramos said.

  “Upper levels?” she said.

  Ramos looked back at the building. Four stories total. “Probably.”

  Kassandra pointed across the street. “Won’t matter.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “See that airport shuttle?”

  The yellow-and-blue van, with the hotel logo on the side and “Airport Shuttle” below, pulled up in front of the Hyatt’s entrance.

  “It would fit, don’t you think?”

  “Sure,” Ramos said. “Nobody will look twice.”

  Crossing the street, they boarded the shuttle. The driver told them they’d be departing in a few minutes as he stepped off. They settled into a seat in the middle of the bus.

  The ride to SeaTac was uneventful and it solved exactly how to get one of those shuttle buses on June 6th.

  D-Day, indeed.

  General Walker returned from lunch to find an FBI agent waiting in the outer office. Sergeant Fisher stopped him and introduced the agent.

  “Can we talk in your office?” the agent said. His name was Burke and he wore a perfectly pressed gray suit, hair combed straight back, with well-manicured nails. Everything a G-Man should be.

  Walker frowned at him. “Can’t take too long.”

  “Five minutes at the most.”

  Walker led Burke inside. The G-man remained standing while he sat. “What’s up, Agent Burke?”

  “You’re aware of what happened in San Francisco?” the agent said.

  “Yes.”

  “There is some concern you’ll be the next target.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “I’m following-up for friends at the CIA.”

  “Are you making a joke?”

  Burke smiled. “Seriously, General, have you noticed anybody following you? Your family?”

  “Not at all, Agent Burke.”

  “I’m not authorized to offer protection, but you can go through channels to request it.”

  “I’ll talk to my guys here. CID can cover me if it’s truly serious.”

  “The Agency seems to think so.”

  “I know a guy there too,” Walker said. “I’ll call him.” He stood up and offered a hand. “Thanks for coming by.”

  Burke shook hands and left Walker with a business card. He saw the agent out and returned to his desk, where he picked up the phone and dialed.

  The other line picked up after three rings. “Lukavina speaking.”

  “General Walker, Len.”

  Lukavina cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, sir. This is a surprise. How are you?”

  “The FBI paid me a visit. What’s this I hear about Graypoole looking for me?”

  “We’re not positive. But we’re hitting nothing but dead-ends, sir.”

  “Len, you don’t work for me anymore. Drop the ‘sir’.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean--dammit, General.”

&
nbsp; Walker laughed. “Dead ends, you said?”

  “We think it’s Graypoole’s kid reviving the organization.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re having a hard time getting a fix on him. You and some others may be a target. We need to take precautions.”

  “I’ll make my own arrangements with my people here,” Walker said. “I appreciate the tip. If I hear anything--”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The General didn’t bother to correct him. “Surely you have some good news, somewhere?”

  “Steve Dane is on the job. He’s had first-contact with the enemy so we officially hired him.”

  Walker laughed. “You mean the Agency had no choice but to hire him. He was going to go after them anyway.”

  “Correct, General.”

  “He’ll either find answers or cause an international incident.”

  Dane and the General went back several years, when the Agency participated in joint operations with Walker’s special forces team. The only thing Walker didn’t like about Dane’s personality was his independent nature and his idea orders were merely suggestions until he thought of a better option.

  Lukavina said, “What about a sweep of your house?”

  “It’s checked once a month. Last check was two weeks ago. It was clean. It’s always clean.”

  “All right. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “I appreciate you being available, Len.”

  13

  One of Steve Dane’s biggest disappointments the first time he traveled to Berlin was so much of the food available had been Americanized. You could get the same burgers and steaks in Berlin as you could in New York City. Dane always asserted he didn’t travel to new places to repeat experiences he could have back home. He traveled to new places to experience new things, including food, but he had to admit the extra effort spent to find new things often led to other exciting discoveries making such trips more memorable.