Vengeance

[bacpacker]

Good one!

[piranha2]

Just keeps getting better.

[The Stig]

“So now what?” whispered Mack as her and Miller stood in the middle of the Kirilenko's office.
Looking around the office, and evaluating the guards, all Miller could say is, “Gotta roll with the punches for now.”

Miller was right. Kirilenko had left them little room for action or escape. The two men stood in the middle of Kirilenko's massive office. Six men, all armed with automatic rifles, surrounded them. Standing at attention, and out of arms reach, all stood ready to shoot the prisoners if need be.

Not that there would be any need. Miller and Mack were both in leg chains and handcuffs.

The large office contained a large wooden desk at the far end of the rectangular room. Sundry file cabinets and related furniture were found on this side also. The rectangular conference table, also large and wooden, was pushed against one of the long walls, while the opposing wall was filled by four floor to ceiling windows. The main entrance to the office was on the wall opposing the desk, while a secondary entrance was found just behind it. The room was rendered dark and ominous by the dark woods, carpets and leathers that adorned the furniture.

Smiling back at the guards, but speaking under his breath to longtime partner in crime, Mack said, “looks like you're right. We are screwed harder than the town mattress.”

Despite their bravado and tough exteriors, both men flinched when the door flew open and Kirilenko stormed into the room.

“Gentleman!” he said exuberantly as he strode briskly across the floor. “My delay must be excused. A minor tactical situation needed attention.” Nodding at his soldiers they quickly looked at their team-leader before slowly shuffling out of the room.

Before the team-leader left, Kirilenko called out, “Please, unshackle our guests. No reason why they must be inconvenienced.” The team-leader again hesitated, but thinking the better of defying Kirilenko, he quickly complied. Again glancing back in his leaders direction he then saluted and left the room pulling the door shut behind him.

“It would seem, my friends, that some military activities on the edge of the city have caused my guards some unease. They became somewhat, disorganized, in my absence but that is no concern right now. What is a concern is our reunion.”

As he gave his small address, the General had placed his cigar in a thick ashtray and poured three small glasses of Vodka.
Miller and Mack were savvy enough to know they had no choice but to play along with Kirilenko's odd brand of civility. While they knew they could jump the older man, the six guards outside the door with automatic weapons would shoot them dead before they could do much else.

“A toast comrades,” said the General handing both men a glass.

“Permit me General,” said Miller playing the game. “To what do we toast?”

With the slightest trace of a smile Kirilenko said solely, “To the end of a colossal....” he searched for the word. “A colossal jackass I think you would say.”

Recognizing the men's lack of comprehension, he added, “Donovan is dead. He is of no consequence to us now.” He then flamboyantly raised his glass and drank it one quick gulp. Miller and Mack, still unsure of themselves, followed suit.

Kirilenko continued on with his strange performance. “He was not like us. He wasn't a warrior, wasn't part of our brotherhood. He had his chance for power and he squandered it. Squandered it!” he said with emphasis. “And on what? A woman?.”

“Don't equate us to you Kirilenko,” uttered Mack.

With a smile the General said, “on the contrary, we have much in common. We all follow orders and fight for the best interest of our countries.” He thought for a second and then added, “or for the politicians.”

Moving across the room, and speaking as if he were giving a collegiate lecture, Kirilenko said, “Face it comrades. Our masters use us for their gain, and we are sent to do their bidding. We work for different countries, maybe have different ideals, but we use the same methods and get the same results. In the end, we are brothers.”

Mack nearly spit on the floor, “brothers my ass. We don't kill innocents. We don't slaughter people wholesale.”

“Now my friend Mack, let us be calm. This is no time for arguing. Please, have another drink.”

With an indignant tone Mack continued on, “we don't slaughter villages. We don't kill subordinates. Hell, on this caper alone you sent teams to kill Miller's family, his friends at that farm. We are not butchers.”

Miller reached over and gently pulled back Mack's arm as a signal to calm down. “Mack, this may not be the best time for an impassioned speech.”

“Ah Miller, always the rational one. Please have a seat,” he motioned to several chair by the conference room table.

As the men shuffled to the seats, Kirilenko poured himself another Vodka without offering more to Mack and Miller. He let silence fall for many long seconds.

“Since the pleasantries are over,” he said with a frown towards Mack, “we must discuss some more uncomfortable subjects. I would be remiss if we didn't spend some time with you both to cover certain, sensitive matters. It will be cliché, but we can do this easily here, or move to perhaps more, conducive but uncomfortable surroundings.”

Recognizing plainly Kirilenko's intent, both Miller and Mack remained silent.

Sighing, Kirilenko stood and declared, “I had hoped we could afford each other more respect. As you wish, we can do it as you say, the hard way.”

****

Saxon was exhausted. After the long mission and the adrenaline of the firefight, he and his men had to swim across the width of the fast flowing Ohio River. Somehow they had managed it without anyone drowning or losing the body of their comrade.

As the four men, breathing heavy, legs and arms on fire, and covered in grime, emerged from the water, they stumbled into the shallow bank of the south shore. Amazingly they were relatively near the spot where they had entered.

One of the men bent at the waist and vomited. All of the men, lost in their own thoughts, panted and attempted to collect their breaths and a strange haze hung in the air. The expended cordite and explosives rained on Crutchfield's men had slowly moved south. They were in a cloud of the afterglow of destruction.

“Take five boys,” said Saxon to confirm the obvious. The reality was they'd likely rest for much longer. He had radioed Captain DeMetrie just prior to crossing back over the river. He found it odd that the Captain said their transport back to base would be delayed but right now he didn't give a damn.

He and most of his men were back safely to the south bank of the Ohio.

As time passed and the men began chatting more and swapping stories about the events of the past hours, a sense of relief passed through the group. They had done their jobs and completed their mission.

Finally one of the men asked, “so Sarge, how the hell do we get back to base. Cause I ain't walking.”

Saxon gave him a stern look. “You'll walk if you have too.”

“After all that? I'll just quit.”

Another man joking piped in, “you can't quit the Army dumbass.”

Saxon let the taunting go. It was time for them to unwind. After some time, and plenty of ribbing, he stood and declared, “Ok boys, looks like our ride has left us. We'll hump it back to base.”

“Damn Sarge, that's like fifteen miles.”

Saxon turned and prepared to encourage his man, in typical gentile military fashion, to start walking. Before he could, however, they were startled to hear the sound of a large diesel powered vehicle approaching at a high rate of speed.

“What the hell is that?” asked one man.

“That can't be ours. Damn, we don't have any rifles.”

Panic briefly started to overtake the small, weary, group of soldiers as they looked around for cover or even makeshift weapons.

“There's no way that can be one of Crutchfield's,” thought Saxon.

As the four men crouched in the darkness, as if that would provide them any protection, the silhouette of a large wheeled vehicle emerged out of the hazy darkness. Suddenly, a large spot-light flipped on, blinding them all. Reflexively, they raised their arms to cover their eyes and the panic blossomed into fear. They were unarmed, exhausted and nearly naked.

As the big truck, that glided to a stop twenty yards from them like a ghost floating over the riverbank, they could hear a heavy metal turret hatch flop open and make it's distinctive metallic clunk.

“You ladies need a ride,” came the familiar voice.

Saxon and his men looked at each other in confusion.

Flipping the light off to restore their vision, the picture slowly came into view. Saxon looked up to see Lowry sticking out of the hatch of a Stryker personnel carrier.

“The Captain thought you might need a lift,” said the prodigal solider with a smile. “And you lads better not get my new ride dirty.”

****

“Kirilenko,” called out Miller as the General reached to pick up the phone and summon the guards back into the office. Miller's adversary, somewhat surprised, looked up sharply. Miller continued, “you may be right, let's chat here for now.”

Smiling the General placed the receiver back in it's cradle. “Excellent. You do understand that others, with more particular skills, will need to join us at some point.” As Miller nodded his accent, Kirilenko guided his large frame back into his office chair and ran his hand across his bald pate. “But for now we talk.”

After taking a long draw on his cigar, and then exhaling, he asked, “we start easy, what was your mission?” A smoke cloud billowed into the air around him.

Miller answered simply, “to kill Donovan.”

Chuckling, Kirilenko responded, “It would seem I accomplished your mission for you.”

Raising his glass in a toast, Miller countered with, “For once, I appreciate your skill in such matters.” Both men laughed aloud in genuine amusement.

Turning to Mack, he asked, “and after you killed that irritating man? What was your next step?”

Shaking his head, Mack said softly. “I honestly don't know. Miller wouldn't tell me. If I had to guess it would be to kill you. Maybe even kidnap you and bring you back to face justice of some sort.”

“How about that Mr. Miller? Is that accurate?”

“Partially,” said Miller nonchalantly.

Clucking his tongue, Kirilenko replied, “That is a shame. I would have hoped Papa to be more creative. To have his two best agents come all this way, I'd like to think he'd have planned something more....interesting....than that.”

Miller tossed his head to one side. “Yea, well. Budget cutbacks and all. Besides, not every one can be a home run.”

Ignoring the quip, Kirilenko continued, “It would seem that Papa is interested in continuing our relationship. I would be correct in assuming you have other teams working in this area?”

Mack, Miller and Kirilenko were all experienced enough that there was no reason employing typical interrogation tactics. Should the General have broken out the thumbscrews his two adversaries would have gone into survival mode and shut down completely. So by asking straightforward, direct questions there was a chance that one of them could slip and share some sort of useful information.

Kirilenko would bring out the more physically demanding interrogation techniques later.

Mack responded, “no idea. My guess is yes, but you know Papa, he keeps it all compartmentalized.”

The questions continued for a short while and the answers continued to be vague and evasive. Mack did most of the talking, but Miller would chime in on occasion with share false, deceptive and mostly useless information. Kirilenko quickly sensed that the discussion had yielded all it would ever yield.

Standing abruptly, he announced, “I believe we need more traditional settings. We will move to a different location and bring in some new faces I think.” Tugging his uniform jacket into place, he walked to his desk and placed his cigar into the thick ashtray.

“While I enjoy our time together, I think there is important business at hand.” Sitting on the edge of his desk, facing back towards the main entrance to his office, he said, “unless you gentleman would like to share anything more substantive.”

Miller, as casually as a friend would ask for a beer, responded, “we've been doing this thing for years now. Grant me this Kirilenko; how the hell did you get the drop on me? You've been a step ahead of me since I left Wyoming. I mean damn, I must be slipping because no matter what I did your men seemed to know right where I was. Maybe I shoulda stayed retired.”

The room fell silent as Kirilenko contemplated his answer. He had never had Miller in his grasp before. There had been close scrapes before. Times where his men had corned Miller; even had him in custody but he'd always managed to escape before actually being under Kirilenko's direct control. They were all in uncharted territory.

Smiling, the Ukrainian replied, in an almost fatherly tone, “Miller, do not doubt your talents. I am not ashamed to say that your services would be most welcome in my organization.”

Looking back, Miller continued, “Thank you. I've always respected you also,” with faint smile. “I know I shouldn't admit that but there it is. We've had our times over the years haven't we?”

Nodding his head, Kirilenko softly replied, “Yes, we have.”

Shaking his head, Miller said with a chuckle, “I mean, I must really have lost my touch. You just had my number. It's probably just as good that this is the end.”

Shaking his head slowly side-to-side, Kirilenko replied, “do not take it so hard friend. Your skills have not eroded. Do not forget that you defeated every team I sent.” He waived his finger in the air to accentuate the point.

Mack softly asked, “Miller what are you doing?”

Miller, suddenly lowered his head. “That doesn't seem to balance it all out. I can't believe I'm saying all this.”

Kirilenko paused for a short while. As the sound of the wall clock clicking filled the office, he finally said, “Do not doubt yourself. I will confess a little secret. I did not do this all on my own.” He paused and leaned in towards Miller. “Your friend next to you is not as good as friend as you may think.”

[piranha2]

And the plot thickens.

[Stg1swret]

It would appear the body count is about o go up.

[izzyscout21]

oh snap.

[The Stig]

Silence hung in the air after Kirilenko's revelation. It was as if a bombshell had exploded.

After many tense seconds, Mack turned to Miller. “Miller, are you going to listen to this guy?”

Miller remained silent inducing Mack to continue on, “Seriously, after all we've been through? Com'on man, It's clearly a ploy by this schmuck. I don't know what sort of game he's playing, but it's a game.”

Miller remained silent.

“I'm telling you Miller,” said Mack, his voice rising an octave. “Don't let this bozo pull mind games with you.” Mack continued to look at Miller in a silent plea of support.

“Miller!” Mack exclaimed, clearly panicked at Miller's lack of response. “What the hell are you doing. Kirilenko is bluffing you. After all these years, all the times you've bested him and you are going to fall for one of the lamest tricks in the book?” The tension in Mack's voice was clear. They had played games like this before on various missions, but it was clear something was different in Miller's attitude.
Kirilenko leaned forward, mouth turned down in a frown as finally Miller spoke, “Too many things not adding up.”

Exasperated, Mack asked, “Like what?”

Miller remained silent, he stood and moved towards the conference table, away from the General's desk. Kirilenko and Mack's eyes remained trained on him as he moved. “Just too many things.” He shook his head from side to side as his voice trailed off.

Angry, Mack demanded, “you can't name a single thing. You really think this buffoon in an usher's uniform turned me?”

Out of the corner of his eye Miller saw Kirilenko's face turn scarlet red.

“Moscow. That Airforce contact. His cover was blown? Right before we're going to pull him out and his cover mysteriously goes up in smoke? That never sat right with me.”

Mack's brain, searching for answers, finally spit out, “Miller, that's a hundred years ago. I don't know how he got burnt. Maybe he panicked? Maybe he did something stupid? Maybe he tripped himself up? Beats the hell out of me.”

Still across the office, towards the main door, Miller simply repeated, “just not sure how he was discovered. And right at the last minute? Too coincidental.” Again his voice trailed off.

Arms outstretched, palms up, Mack replied, “Miller. For christ's sake, what the hell is wrong with you. That's history. Who knows? That Airforce guy was an amateur. He was in over his head and out of his league. Maybe he turned himself in?”

Indignant, Kirilenko fired back, “or maybe I bested Miller by turning you.” It was clear Kirilenko felt his accomplishment had been diminished as the conversation unfolded. He stared daggers at Mack, “He did not accidentally give himself up. He did not, as you say, panic. It was my hard work that convinced you to betray your country! It was I who turned Miller's friend against him! Right before that final day at the city park you and I met and I finally convinced you to turn!”

“We had our suspicions about the Airforce officer, but it wasn't until I turned you and you gave him over to us that we knew for sure.” He pointed at Mack as his eyes narrowed with anger.

Turning to Miller, Kirilenko continued, “Search his financial records, there will be a mysterious $100,000 appear shortly after that incident. You might also want to track down how he came across so many shares of stock in various Russian operated oil companies. I think you'll find ties to all sorts of Ukrainian trading companies that will easily be traced back to me.”

Silence filled the room as Kirilenko sat back on the edge of his desk, flush with pride for setting the record straight. For nearly a minute nobody moved or spoke. Sensing that it was time to once again restrain his two adversaries Kirilenko leaned over his desk and reached for the phone. “I think it is time we bring others into our conversation. This has gone on long enough.”

“Hey partner, I think you might not want to do that,” came a voice from the rear entrance to Kirilenko's office.

Mack and Kirilenko's both spun towards the door to see Dink, sound suppressed M4 rifle in hand, casually leaning against the door-frame.

Kirilenko looked deeply into Dink's eye's to gauge the seriousness of this strangers intentions. Sadistic butcher or not, he was smart enough to recognize that complying was likely the safest choice. There was no doubt that Dink would shoot him dead. He'd have to wait for a more opportune time to act.

Webb, walking into the office from behind Dink, crossed the room, careful not to walk between Dink and Kirilenko. As he reached the phone, a knife appeared, seemingly from nowhere. As he cut the cord he looked at Miller and smiled.

“Miller, what the hell is going on here?” demanded Mack. Confused, looking at Dink and Webb, “You two were off rescuing those soldiers!”

“Oh, I might have stretched the truth about that ,” said Miller, all traces of his portrayal of a doubt-riddled man gone. “There's a reason why I didn't want DeMetrie sharing any of his military plans in front of you. Besides not wanting you to tell anything to the bad-guys, I needed you to think Webb and Dink were out of the picture.”

As Miller stood he said, “Webb, secure the general. Dink, go barricade that other door.”

Kirilenko couldn't help himself and blurted out, “how...how did you get in?”

Miller quickly responded, “Never underestimate confusion as a cover.”

Mack started to ask for the second time what was happening. Miller turned towards him, eyes narrowing. “Say another word, raise the slightest alarm, and I'll fucking slit your throat right now.”

Mack, thinking the wiser of responding, said nothing.

“Put the General in his office chair,” he directed Webb. “Once you're done with him, tie up this fuckstick too, toss him on the couch. Make sure he can't make a damn sound,” he said jerking his finger towards Mack.

“So you were right about this guy?” asked Dink.

Nodding his head in affirmation, Miller said, “I've had doubts for a long time. Ever since Moscow but never had any proof. It really haunted me when I retired but I pushed it out of my mind. So when Donovan resurfaced this whole mess provided the opportunity to nail it down one way or another.”

“You knew?” exclaimed Mack before Webb gagged him.

“Like I said, I wasn't positive but our friend Kirilenko kind of removed all doubt didn't he,” said Miller with a smile. “You've gotten sloppy anyway,” he commented. “So it was a matter of time.” Kirilenko, in the background, sighed realizing the mistake of outing his turncoat.

“Oh,” said Dink. “By all means, do tell.”

“He really dropped the ball when he commented on that team that hit us at the truck-stop in Louisiana.”

Trying to say something through his gag, Mack attempted to refute the charge. Webb quickly cuffed him across the back of the head.

“He's going to say Papa told him. Little problem with that, I never told Papa. Between the truck-stop and meeting up with Mack, we only talked twice and neither time did I mention the truck-stop. Only way he could have known about it is if Kirilenko told him.”

“Ouch,” said Dink. Prodding further, “Come on, don't hold out on the juicy details”.

Smiling slightly as he adjusted the sling of the short barreled M4 rifle Dink had handed him, Miller continued. “He told us he convinced Kirilenko that he was local talent and was sent down as part of a team to kill us. Kirilenko, for all his faults, isn't an idiot. If he didn't already remember Mack from our time in Europe, he damn sure wouldn't trust a complete stranger on an important op to kill his longtime nemesis.”

Dink, pouring himself a glass of Kirilenko's vodka, commented, “makes sense. Go on.” He was clearly enjoying himself.

“It always sat funny with me that it was Mack who suggested the square we used to meet with the Russian Airforce officer I mentioned. Was rather insistent about it. Then, after we crossed the river earlier tonight, he immediately suggests another location, this Fountain Square place, and wouldn't you know it, Kirilenko's there in force. Georgi didn't have time to hang lights and put teams in place after we contacted Donovan. There was only ten, fifteen minutes tops. Kirilenko had to have known that's where we'd be before hand.”

Dink casually commented, “what are the odds that the one place Mack suggests just happens to be the prepared trap?”

Mack again looked up and attempted to protest and was rewarded with another smack from Webb.

“Tough guy is going to say it's all coincidence. Can't prove anything. Blah blah. But you want to know what the final hint was, the big clue?” asked Miller.

Quickly downing his vodka, Dink said, “Oh yes. Please share.” He then promptly poured himself a second glass while Kirilenko glared at him.

“Let me ask you genius,” he said directly to Mack. “If you had infiltrated Kirilenko's organization under the guise of being a gun-for-hire, and had the old guy fooled, how the hell did he know your real name? ”

Mack, thinking back over the conversation realized it immediately. Kirilenko had addressed him as Mack during their conversation. Kirilenko too recognized his blunder.

“So your routine was just baiting Kirilenko into admitting Mack was a double agent?” asked Webb. “Heck, allowing yourself to be captured and brought here, sending me and Dink away, the hole deal was just a big hoax.”

Nodding. “Yea. Even with all Mack's slip-ups I wanted it nailed down for sure for his treason trial. What better witness for the prosecution than the spymaster who turned him against his country?”

“Miller,” said Dink solemnly. “Remind me never, and I mean never, to piss you off.”

“Yea, well, took me long enough to figure it out,” said Miller. Glancing down at his watch he said, “Enough chit-chat. Webb, please notify our taxi-service that we'll be at the rendezvous in fifteen minutes and we need an extraction. We'll have two other passengers with us.”

Dink, standing and adjusting a piece of gear, asked, “We're not going back over in a damn boat are we?”

“Boat?” said Miller. “Hell no. Hammerhead over here probably ratted out all the nearby launch spots.”

As all the men rose, and Webb and Dink prepared to maneuver their captives, the doorknob to the office suddenly turned.

In near perfect unison Miller, Dink and Webb all said, “shit”.

[bacpacker]

Keeps gettin better

[larbhills]

Stig, I look forward to your updates every day. Man, you are good at this!

[Grumpy Old Man]

You have a serious talent for making plot twists! This is getting more convoluted and twisted with every new chapter! Keep them coming please.