Do Or Die (Surreal Blue Rogue Agent 1) (2 page)

The
man who hailed him had short black hair and wore dark glasses. He wore a dark
grey suit and a metallic tie with an engraved silver tie clip that fastened to
a crisp, plum-colored shirt.   

Bending
over, listening closely to what the mysterious Asian man had to say, he did not
realize that this man was a figure only he could see.

Xin,
using his thumb to hold the cell phone to his palm, extended his four fingers
to stab the man through the protective black army gear in his lower abdomen.

 “No,
look at me, look at me,” Xin said as he coaxed the man’s attention from the
sudden pain in his side to look into his eyes as he inserted the small phone
into his flesh. “You’re fine. You feel no pain,” he told him. Xin used his
fingers to slowly push the cell phone deeper into the man’s side before he
removed his coarse hand and the gash quickly healed, leaving a contused wound.

Xin
covered the spot by pulling the man’s jacket over the area and smiled. “Now,
hurry along before they realize you’re gone.”

The
man swallowed hard as he slowly gained his bearings coming out from under the
strong trance. He felt sick as though he wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t
fathom the reason. He shrugged it off as just the intensity of the job at hand;
for protecting the subject from attack would not be easy. He inhaled to calm
himself. As he left the room, he almost gagged on the saliva that had
accumulated in his mouth. He covered his mouth, coughing to clear his throat,
and was shocked to see a spattering of blood in the palm of his hand. This
confused him even further.

“Hey!
Roger!” Looking up from his bloodied hand, he saw his teammate waving to him from
the entrance.

I’m
fine. No pain no gain,
he thought as he rushed to meet up with
the rest of the group. He ignored the slight twinge he felt in the side of his
lower abdomen as he ran.

           
“How’s
your arm.” Mat looked at Lincoln as he flexed his right arm open and closed.
They both stood at the back of the group of men that would be engaged in
battling Audrianna’s abductors.

“Not a
problem.” Lincoln whispered back. A triple amputee, Lincoln wore special high
quality bionic prosthetics that were grafted in aesthetically pleasing
synthetic skin. His arm and legs looked and mimicked natural limbs. He had
forsaken an integral doctor’s visit to fix a categorical malfunction in his arm
to be present for his Boss’s meeting.   

Cory
Broderick, the commander in charge of the operation, was in front of the group
giving a briefing. The two aides listened in quietly. Corey finished the
briefing and Lincoln called the officers to attention.

“I
can’t stress this hard enough guys,” Lincoln circled the men seated in the room
dressed in military fatigue. “This is a “No Fire” operation until specified
otherwise. Understood?”

The
men nodded emphatically in response.

“Good.”
Lincoln nodded in Broderick’s direction.

Broderick
looked over at Mr. Maxckmillian who was at the time taking a private call.

“The
receiver has been placed,” Viktor heard Xin say. He sighed as he disconnected
the line on his cell and gazed at the members of his wife’s security team. His
eyebrow rose at Lincoln Huntington, his wife’s personal aide, who was now in
charge of the rescue mission to save her from the abductors.

 “Zat
it?” he asked in his heavily laden Russian accent.

Lincoln’s
reply was equally terse. “For the CPA meeting, for now- yes. We will act as
soon as we have her coordinates.”

“
Khoroshiy.”
Viktor Maxckmillian swiveled the black ergonomic chair around to face the
floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the coastal city of
Port-of-Spain. They had an all encompassing view of the of the Gulf of Paria.
The slashing, ominous waves, coupled with the encroaching mass of blackness in
the sky that gave way to sparse strips of white light that barely touched the
oceanic surface spoke of treacherous weather.

Viktor’s
act was as much of a dismissal as the group expected, and the fifteen military-trained
men began leaving the regional office of Maxckcom International, located in the
Eric Williams Financial Complex. As their steps receded, Viktor heard one
steady, assured foot land beside his desk.

“That
there be devil’s weather.” Matsenêstse King, Viktor’s blond-haired, green-eyed
Texan aide muttered under his breath. Mat had sharp, strong features and a
square jaw that relaxed into an easy smile far too often. His hair was tapered
short and neat.

Viktor’s
eyes slanted to his right. Hearing the door slam behind him, he turned his
chair around. His dark blue eyes were guarded.

Lincoln
stood by the door, clutching the knob. Viktor released a harsh sigh. “Something
else…” Victor paused to think of the right words, “on your mind?” His eyebrow
raised in query.

Lincoln
released his tense grip on the knob to approach the thick, wide glass desk. He
came closer, to stand before Viktor. Viktor relaxed in his seat and arched
backward, casually folding his arms over his broad chest. He looked up at
Lincoln’s massive six-foot four-inch frame, whose shadow eclipsed Viktor’s
body. Lincoln’s honey-colored eyes bored through Viktor’s. Lincoln’s strong jaw
tensed. “Is there any phone call so important that you could ignore a briefing
about your own wife’s kidnapping?”

Viktor
blanched, more from inner rage than embarrassment. He lowered his eyes, “You
seem to have the matter under control.”

“Do
you have any idea where she is?”

Mat’s
gasp was audible.

Viktor’s
smirk was incredulous. “You driving something at here - Lincoln Huntington?”

“I
want to know who was on the other line of that call you got earlier.  What
do
you know about Audrianna’s kidnapping? You see, the world of Audrianna Maxckmillian,
which is totally eclipsed by the all-knowing Viktor Maxckmillian, holds no
secrets from you;
but the rest of us are not privy to it
 
.” Lincoln’s left hand
clenched the secret Contingency Plan file painfully. “If you know who has her,
then I want to know
now
.”

Viktor’s
fists landed with extreme force on the glass desk. “Do you truly believe v’at
I-” Viktor paused to take a deep calming breath. “Do you think I could ever,
ever
,
delay my wife’s homecoming for the sake of one-upmanship over you?” Viktor’s
voice was savage. “Over anyone?” Viktor stood up swiftly with a force that shot
his chair backward. “I would never betray Audrianna in this way.” Viktor’s height
nearly matched Lincoln’s. “I know you don’t respect my ethics, but give me some
credit for the way I handle my business. Whoever took my wife – I don’t know –
but be sure, they will regret their actions this day.”

A
tense silence filled the room a moment before a sharp rap was heard against the
door. A good-looking brunette, Miriam Whitfield, staggered into the office and
collapsed unceremoniously in one of the empty guest chairs.  “Alcohol please,” she
gasped for breath. “Anything will do.”

Viktor
buzzed his assistant secretary Emily and ordered a scotch and tonic. Emily, a
petit, raven-haired girl with strict bearing, walked in with a tray of bottles
of scotch, gin, tonic, and empty glasses. Miriam passed on the gin, deciding on
the rich, dark liquid. Emily poured the liquor into one of the glasses. Miriam
swiped one immediately, quickly downing it in one, strong gulp.

Miriam
pumped her elbow backward, bringing her fist to her shoulder blade. “Aha, now
that’s the stuff!” she breathed.

            Mat
grinned, releasing a slow, low wolf-whistle.
Gotta love a gal that can hold
her liquor,
he thought. Miriam grabbed another glass, about to down another
shot, when Viktor lost his already thin patience.

            “Miriam!”
Viktor’s voice was quiet but curt.

Miriam
stilled. The glass of scotch paused, the glass rim right at the tip of her lips;
a sly smile animated her face. Her left eyebrow quirked upwards, her eyes
lowered from Viktor’s stern features to the chilled golden liquid. Her gaze
became shuttered.

“Faulty
wiring: a leak gone unnoticed, water pooling over some exposed wires, a minor
electrical explosion, a life lost. That’s the story I’ve been pushing across
the internet and it’s been picked up by the AP.” Miriam swirled the scotch confidently
in her hand. The ice cubes chinked as they clashed against the glass surface,
knocking against each other. “I’ve got someone on the report from the fire
services, the police department, and the private ambulance service. They’ll all
concur with the initial on-site findings – an explosion due to faulty wiring.” Miriam
drained the glass. Her mouth pouted in a soft moue. “Ohh,” she released a soft
breath. “Bully for us.” She placed the empty glass on the waiter. “The only
casualty was one of ours. A national would have muddied the waters…the body bag
is already in transit to New York.” Miriam nodded to the assistant and made a
small gesture with her index finger, waving it up and down, indicating she’d
have another.

“Z’ank
you, Miriam, for z’ee brief,” Viktor said through clenched teeth.

Miriam
sighed, familiar with her boss’s cue for when it was time to make a quick exit.
 She grabbed a lime wedge from the serving tray, the bottle of scotch, and two
glasses. She shoved the wedge in her mouth. The two glasses clinked against
each other as she held them neatly together with her right index and middle
fingers. Standing, she raised them along with her hand to salute her boss.
Miriam then sauntered through the exit as Emily held the door open for her. The
assistant departed as well, closing the door behind her. The three men were
once again alone in the room.

Viktor
turned to observe the menacing weather through the window once more, his back
to the two assistants. Lincoln observed the Russian’s stiff posture. Victor
wore a dark silver pin-striped waistcoat with matching trousers. His lengthy
raven hair was wound into a close-fitted Dutch braid that fell squarely down
the middle of his back. The end of his braid was bound by a fat black rubber
strap. The bit of loose hair at the end of his braid always captured the
attention of onlookers for its striking shock of white-grey color.

Lincoln
opened his mouth to address his superior once more, only to give pause to the shrill
ring of the office IP phone. Viktor waved Mat aside when he advanced to pick up
the receiver. Viktor answered on the second ring. “
Dobryy den
ʹ
,
Viktor Maxckmillian.” As he listened to the voice over the phone, his face
suddenly paled and he sat down slowly in his chair. The voice on the other end had
unmistakable similarities to his missing wife. Viktor shut his eyes when he
realized that he was instead speaking to her mother. He released a short breath
over an inaudible, muttered curse. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his
chair, dragging his hand down his face gently, using his thumb and index finger
to massage his closed eyelids. “No, Mama.” Viktor stopped to listen. “Yes, she
is a very ungrateful girl, I’ll make sure she comes over to you before the day
is out, of that you could play lotto.” Viktor shrugged off the well of
reassurance that surged through him at the sound of the quiet giggle that
erupted in his ear. Yes, the both agreed he was no good at colloquial slangs.  He
ended the conversation with his mother-in-law, only to field another call.

“Viktor,
how are you? I have yet to speak to your wife today. I am having trouble
getting a hold of her – is she still unavailable? Tonight is the one true night
she can see the Saturn’s rings at optimal clarity.”

Dammit
!  Viktor
cursed silently. Had he known his wife had this many personal engagements on a
daily basis, he would have reined in her private schedule long ago instead of
leaving her ‘daily’ to be settled between herself and Lincoln.  His wife was an
amateur astrophysicist. Witnessing Saturn’s rings for the first time was all
she could talk about the whole week. Viktor kneaded his chin with his thumb and
forefinger. “Really, hmm, I’m not aware of her being busy,
‘ve
 
meeting has overrun – she may
run late.”

“She
is well then?” Dr. Eli asked, concerned about his colleague.

“Yes,
she is over the moon about the meeting, so to speak. She has long to arrive;
after all, you have all night.”

“Yes,
very well then, I will see her soon.” Dr. Eli left the conversation at that.  He
was not too familiar with the Russian diplomat.  He had only met him on
occasion when he was with his wife.

Viktor
hung up the phone, but it was a moment before his tight grip on the receiver
was released.  His strong resolve remained hidden behind the look he gave the
two assistants, who gazed at him with questioning eyes. “Find her,” he ground
out.

Viktor
stood grabbing his tailored jacket from over the chair’s back and hastily drew
his arms through the sleeves. Lincoln’s cell played the beginning of the Niki
Minaj song “Beez In The Trap”. He pulled the phone out and glanced at the
screen and then froze, his eyes locked onto it.  He slowly turned to face the
other two men, displaying the cell’s screen message. The Google map with the
red icon representing fixed coordinates could not be misinterpreted.