Breakfast with a View / ‘tainted”
I hated to sneeze, hearing it destroys brain cells. My Grandmother used to tell me it brought bad luck. Everything was a harbinger of bad fortune on the Steppes. But to me this body function remained the most distracting and potentially dangerous noise. Cause was probably the autumn pollen drifting around the city like a plague.
Refocusing on the mission, looking out at the panoramic view, whatever transpired today represented my retirement, one million dollars and a promise of not staying around the Western world to spend it.
And the job sounded simple, hired to be act somewhere between concierge and crowd control. Hosting a breakfast without a program or even a subject felt strange but in this new century there were for sure some new twists, for me at least.
Hotel staff continued to set up a buffet under the shelter of a giant stripped tent which covered the whole surface of the court, forty stories above the bustling city. I employed my own ‘staff’ too, competent men I hoped, provided by my connections in the city, and paid from the half million fronted by my contacts.
My patrons told him they represented another force, one called the Via Media, a grey organization that existed at another plane within governments, whose purpose, outside of contacting me, remained a puzzle. Why I was picked was moot now, but I believed it was my reputation for getting things accomplished. It had been a long time since I got wet from work. I hoped everyone would stay dry today. It was my job to make sure no one got antsy and panicked. The entourage of urban thugs were under the command of my old mob friend Louie. Louie “Capo” Caporusso was getting $50 K for himself and another $50 K for his team –hopefully under the thrall and control of at least their boss. How he divvyed up the loot fell completely under his direction, I kept an extra 20 Gs for tips for the lads and the hotel staff, primarily to stay away, no matter what happened.
The instructions delivered to my current domicile of Chicago, remained straightforward and clear. A rooftop venue reserved and paid for in advance needs to be secure and void of hotel staff when guests arrived, only invited guests. A list provided this morning when I checked in to my suite in the same hotel, again all details taken care of by minions of the Via Media. The documents left listed ten people from nine different diplomatic services, each one an intel branch of their governments. As there was no agenda, no speaker, no briefing, the list existed as the main clue as to what was to go down. All I had left was a prepared statement sealed, to be kept unopened until exactly 8:45 AM.
Capo introduced his men earlier, and in a very, perhaps amateurish move, I gave each of the seven men coloured tags with clips to indentify each. That would be their names today, to protect them in the future and mostly so I would not have to learn a bunch of new names. It was better this way. I was Mr. Black, Capo Mr. White, with no other than Italians there were no racial problems but on the safe side there was no Mr. Pink or anything cute, just simple the colours for a simple operation.
Everyone agreed at the seven AM briefing in my 38th floor suite, that I had the helm, Lou was second in command and everyone else was to wait for orders to do anything. Better to remain a lone wolf and lead from the edge but this was a three hour cruise hopefully without the stranding that befell my hero, Gilligan. At the briefing, I shared the guest list and their affiliations along with a small buffet in the room with food aplenty. Telling the lads too much might make them jumpy yet it seemed best to enlighten the group that our guests were foreign agents, spies, men trained to observe and to act with violence. I wanted no one taking the job without knowing the risks. Louie made sure the boys were armed with clean Glocks brought by him. Personal weapons and anything else that might link anyone to the site were forbidden. Holstered, and in tailored suits the boys would have made GQ, even with the bulges.
The first guest to arrive was met by Misters Red and Yellow, one using a hand scanner, the other physically shaking them down. SOP for mob soldats like these guys. Like the security team, no guest was to be in possession of cameras, recording devices, phones or weapons of any sort. My orders, although seemingly capricious, were to be followed to the letter. I knew my contacts could find me again should they feel they did not get their monies worth. On my side would be a need to hunt these known connections down, should I not get word of the balance, owed, deposited to my Cayman account. Likely a vacant threat, but one I needed to make, even if just to myself.
Most intel agencies used acronyms, like the CIA. The first agent whose name matched the guest list was from Denmark and with his spook group, PET. I welcomed him without saying anything more than my ‘day name’ of Mr. Black. The Dane wandered towards the buffet table plate in hand, quartering the scene with trained eyes. This would be expected of all ten guests, from nine agencies around the world.
It was only eight o’clock, the scheduled meeting time was for this morning, and as if on a time clock, in marched the German and the French, eyeing each other with the suspicion born of history and common sense. By eight thirty all had arrived, apparently middle level agents from Italy, Spain, China, Japan, Brazil, Egypt and two chaps from Pakistan, the only nationals with more than one invitee, but it was part of the plan. All had perfect ID and seemingly as unaware as each other of the purpose of the meet. I told everyone that there would be statement at 8:45, prepared by the organizers and followed by no questions. Excellent, as I knew no answers. The group seemed fine, eating and mingling about; some knew each other by name , with English being the lingua franca today.
At eight forty five an eleventh guest turned up. Mr. Green told me a woman arrived and was asking for entry to the scene. Sequestered in area by the elevators with Green and Mr. Brown, I immediately grew suspicious and pissed off. This was worse than sneezing. The meeting surely became compromised due to this woman.
And as if it could not get more complicated, I lost my facial composure at least, when I realized I knew this interloper.
Cerebral overdrive kicked in, allowing me to say “Good morning ma’am, I am Mr. Black and this is a private affair, and you do not have permission to attend.”
At first I thought she did not hear me or understand. It had been a long time since our paths had crossed. Thinking her as a planned distraction I called to Lou who had come over as well, to return to the patio and make sure everything remained cool, our prime and only directive.
Now it was time for Anna to work her magic and cajole her way in. Blonde and well dressed in a two piece tanned suit; she looked every bit the part of a Wall Street investment banker or some other capitalist. To me she may as well had been wrapped in a flaming red flag, she was trouble but worse was knowing someone infiltrated the event.
The last time I saw Anna she had an Exacto blade upside my balls in a mock interrogation scenario we were running as a deep plant exercise. As part of the KGB training she was the questioner and me the captive. So treacherous and kinky, I still have nightmare fantasies about her as a sexual predator. She had to be contained, there was no time to fuck about, and I could not show either fear or surprise to our crew.
“Take her to my room “…..this dangerous bitch had to be dealt with and quickly.
We quickly zoomed down to my floor and suite, Mr. Green and I, guns concealed but ready, escorted the fortysomething sculptured creature. “Do not come close to her Mr. Green, please guard the door and the hallway and I will call for you”.
Anna, like the cat who swallowed the canary, smiled and sat down on the love seat, padding the seat beside her with manicured talons.
“So “, she said “it has been a long time Rostovich “– using my paternal Russian name. “I see you have become involved with your old friends again”. Who she meant I suspect was again intended to make me feel uncomfortable, and it was working.
It was almost 8:30 I was supposed to be on the roof with my security team and the guests, not down here with this lethal mercenary, no matter how sweet she smelled or how inviting she looked, long well muscled gams crossed in a sexy X of flesh.
“So Anna, what is the story?, be quick, you have five minutes to convince me NOT to shoot you”. I knew she was not here for to whack me or I would be dead already. I suspect she knew better than I, the lack of actual sincerity in my threat, but I still had to make it.
“I followed you here comrade.” I could smell the bullshit rising, there was no way anyone followed me, this meeting was known by her, with her source of intel quite assuredly not the Via Media. I knew she was a whore to whoever offered her money and adventure, as I was and am. We were cut from the same ragged Russian cloth.
I doubted I could get anything out of her –even with time to torture, something I learned, even from our KGB/NKVD trainers only worked in movies. This was not my forte regardless, a hit, arson for sure, even explosives, but not hurting, even the soulless Anna.
I needed to get back upstairs to read my sealed statement and continue to monitor and control the meet.
I brought in Mr. Green and told him to watch this woman like the snake she represents, not to come close, not to help her in anyway. “If she has to piss, let her go in her clothes. Let no one but I or Mr. (Lou) White enter. Feel free to put a couple of slugs into that beautiful set of hers”. I guess I figured if I talked tough it would impress Green, and underline the danger this women represents. No doubt in my mind she could take our most of our team even unarmed.
Binding her with extra dress ties from my own travelling case, she was trussed up but it was I who felt like the turkey on Thanksgiving.
“But comrade, do you not want to know more? “she said in her perfect aristorcartic Russian. She knew I did badly want to know more about her, the last lost twenty years or so, about today and why? “So tell me Anna, why are you here and why should we not cut your pretty throat right now?” I replied in English.
“Would that make you hard Rostovich? Killing me, I remember you liked it the other way –me threatening you my dove, and joining me in any number of positions”.
“Gag her please Mr. Green “– as much as I would like to take advantage of this situation and become a lot calmer by screwing this angel of death, I had to focus.
Returning upstairs, leaving Anna and guard in my room, mind focused all it had on survival of today and the next.
In three hours I would be free to dart like a dog, as I still rated third in North America in freestyle fleeing. Outside of a reputation for overreacting with weapons blazing and bodies dropping, avoiding capture and prosecution remained by main life skills.
Opening the envelope for the first time I read the two sentences provided:
“Today you will witness the beginning of the Third World War “and a note in smaller font, a suggestion just for me. I did not mention that line.
Fuck, I would prefer to return to my old ways and waste the lot of these guests and just leave but I am making over $100 K an hour so I eat my visceral intents and move on to completing the task.
I read to the assembled the message, pointed to the two large TV monitors, one tuned into Good Morning America and other to CNN. Both muted, they stood as the only media available.
So we collectively munched on crisp bacon, swallowed some eggs Benedict washing it down with the gallons of coffee and juices provided. The Muslims keeping clear of the pig did not sway them from gobbling up fruit and muffins. So they did not starve.
My guys held their positions, briefed that these characters are capable of potentially disarming them if they got too close. The guards had eaten so I was not too worried they would wander from the perimeter in search of food. Kind of like a early morning cocktail party without an apparent theme or booze.
Having been up most of the night I snuck away to the bathroom and pulled out my personal vial of coke and did a quarter gram to give me the edge I felt I needed. Unfortunately the rush of confidence was married with a shot of paranoia about the mission and in particular the presence of my sweetheart.
The crowd had a least begun to mix into small cohorts of spies talking generic shop.
Then it happened, blasting my brain into the realization of why this venue, why this height, why this view.
Down the island, maybe two miles from here a jet slammed into one of the NY Trade Centre towers. We heard a muffled explosion, looked at each other disbelieving of what we saw, turning to see the TVs, replicating a new habit of society that only if you see on the screen with graphics could this be happening at all. Nothing from the stations we had so I scrolled thru the cable channels looking for any updates.
No time to wonder much if this was an isolated civil accident for less than 15 minutes later another airliner slammed into the other tower.
I eyed my team to remain where they were, my orders were clear; no one leaves until after twelve.
As it stood, we were part of an audience, the message to me followed Via Media knew about the strike. What else it meant was still up in the air. We were all witnesses and useless.
Finally a local NY station WNYW broke in with news the crash, although this did little to assuage the antsy feelings of this set of spies. I could only imagine what was going through their minds. True to form, no one of them was sharing anything but awe. I believed now that the purpose was to show to a wide spectrum of countries that there was foreknowledge of this crash. That meant Via Media meant for these guys to live and report to their political masters this fact. I was betting my views would be of less importance along with my life.
With nothing on the boob tube we all ended up leaning over the edge of the patio staring at the damage.
I noted more than one of the guests look skyward, I asked the German what he was searching for and he said “Where is the military?” Then I asked why he wondered what the military would be involved in a civilian crash. He just keeps looking for what he should be there, fighters, only seeing another large jet fly by in all the time since the crash.
I eyed my team to remain where they were, my orders were clear, no one leaves until after noon.
As it stood, we were part of an audience, the message to me followed that Via Media knew about the strike. What else it meant was still up in the air.
Before we could recover from the hit another plane slammed into the second tower. This was indeed a salvo that had to be part of a planned attack against these edifices of bourgeois imperialism. Thank God for my training in the tenets and wordings of Marx and Lenin. Jesus, what is next? The news was going on about an attack on America. Well that part was evidently true, now how much more will happen here in NYC, a suitcase nuke, an Oklahoma style truck bomb, a virus?
The boys on the patio became apoplectic, whether it was at their personal confined and isolated predicament or just the enormity of the event. Either way they complied with their instructions and did not try a break, thank their gods as I am sure my nervous mercs would have cut them down a la fish in a barrel. My guards were from this city, no doubt they may have considered our guests somehow responsible.
My first thought remained focused on Anna. Her people obviously knew too what was to happen, whether she did or not was unresolved, my concern now was establishing who else came to my party uninvited and where are they now.
Needless to say all hell was breaking loose in the streets below even this far from the carnage. My escape plan A was in tatters, no way a cab is going to run to me to Jersey now, likely the traffic congestion and or security blockades make that scenario moot. Fortunately I liked plan B better anyway. With my cover blown plan B will be fluid.
Too bad I could never return to my teaching job at my small community college and dissect this in current events class. I had planned to debate the Rumsfeld admission the day before the Pentagon had ‘lost’ over a TRILLION dollars. Well that ship had sailed as we say in America, I was going to have to say au revoir to everything I knew, not the first time for me. The vagaries of my life do not surprise anymore.
From the Potemkin village I and Anna trained in the USSR to my entry into the US via the confusion during the fall of Saigon, to living like prairie dogs with the Weathermen and SDS, the prospect of ditching it all still seemed better than being hunted like a rabid hound by Anna and her new employers.
That demon left down in my room may have swallowed a rotating infrared camera tracking my heart signature for all I know– the trouble with coke remains an overload of ideas, thank God I am high and can deal with it! Like the disease she represents I simply needed to deal with her one more time, maybe I can use her to my advantage.
Like Hunter S. Thompson I took inventory of my travel bag, two ceramic Glocks with maybe 200 rounds, half an ounce of Peruvian flake, three changes of clothing, 50 grand or so in a variety of US denominations. I am ready to fly now, like the born coward I have always had confidence in.
Events before us evolved as in slow motion. I looked at my cheap yet accurate watch and realized it was 11 already. Contract called quitting time noon. Fuck the boss and his timepiece, I never signed on to the ride this hairy beast to the ground, only keep these guests here until noon.
Who the fuck are these people who could commandeer two jet liners into the twin towers and attack the Pentagon as well as other aerial shenanigans the TV continue to bleat on about?
Whoever they were, my mortal coil would be nothing for them to detwist into a pine box or just made into another smudge on the street.
Always best to devalue one’s own life to come up with an escape algorithm. I had to speak candidly with Lou; I had to trust him at least for the next hour. He arranged a car for me in Jersey that I planned to take to Philly and fly home to Chicago. Well that scenario, fraught with potential pre-knowledge by my hunters no doubt, that I may have to flip to plan X, panic and flee screaming like a Woody Allen antihero.
Needed to assess the chances of a successful conclusion to the contracted meeting. If this was to be my swan song in America, let it be done correctly. Screw that my visceral stump of consciousness cried, take care of number one and let the rest fend for themselves. I liked that. The quests continued to look back and forth from the TVs to the smouldering carnage, which by now had the second tower hit actually fallen on its own footprint like a scene from Independence Day. The only ones alone with their language and thoughts were the Pakistanis whose animated discussions make the rest of the guests seem like extras in this blockbuster film. Urdu remains gibberish to me so they could be talking about how to rush my team and escape. They all may have the same thing in mind as their masters must wonder where they are now.
I sauntered over to Lou as coolly as I could and told him I was going downstairs to see how are Princess and Mr. Green were getting along. “I will be back before noon, make sure no one leaves before I get back”. Lou, like everyone watching, murmured consent, although I could see a kiss of wanderlust in his eyes also, I know he has family in the city, maybe a firefighter or even a cop.
So I left Lou, his crew our witnesses and this patio forever. From the elevator landing I went down 20 floors, I did not consider any benefit to seeing Anna. Rather I went to the one room I had reserved for the week. I had to consider everything and everyone I had made contact with as tainted with the same evil as the perps associated with the attack.
I admit I was as scared of going to see my ex-comrade as with disappointing my contractors or even getting out of this building. If fate has it capricious way, I will no doubt see this creature again, probably just before my head explodes.
Her partners in crime would indeed be watching for me and the whole ensemble no doubt, maybe to simply observe but I could not gamble with that assumption.
I tossed my watch a la Peter Fonda, not because time now was irrelevant but now I was convinced nothing I had was clean of transponders or tracking devices, never an expertise of mine, anymore than packing one’s own cartridges, but I knew what damage they could do.
Whatever lessons the guest list had learned, I did not believe there would be closure on this incident for years, and it was not my role to speculate. Just get away from the hotel, off Manhattan, and out of the States soonest. This was not one of my social science/current events classes, that I had mentally being working on for my return to school, focusing maybe ironically on the announcement the day before by the Secretary of Defence that the Pentagon had misplaced about a Trillion dollars of taxpayers money. Maybe that was the price tag for today’s carnage.
Changing into the uniform of the kitchen help (I had bought from the bellhop) I wheeled my ten speed out into the hall, looking forward but not back and took the staff elevator to street level. Appearing ever much the tired employee that I truly was I took the back exit with a gaggle of cooks who happened to be leaving for home or just out for a smoke. I waved to group, like I knew them, jumped aboard my bike, hoisting my backpack and off I went, never looking back. I heard no pursuit or the pinging of even silenced weapons, joining the cacophony of New York and cycled slowly into the bodies and vehicles of midday Manhattan during its most horrendous day. I was still scared at the thought of being followed and changed my escape plans accordingly but also felt safer in the confusion of the day.
Hours later I was off the island, on a bus for Atlanta, only because it was the first bus leaving. By the time the third tower came down I was half way to a new life, one I had to convince myself would be safe as I could conjure. I did stop for reading material or anything to distract or occupy my coked-out soul and the memories of the 12 hours. I and my busmates were hurtling at 70 mph away from a smouldering soulless New York.
I as anonymous as them all, no passenger list to query, body scans, cash payment, no way I was being followed.
I wanted to make sure I had nothing from the crime scene, not only for tracking but for evidence of my presence. I was not going to throw out my hard earned cash even if marked. It would take too long to trace me now. I emptied my pockets and found the note announcing the beginning of the end and then before shredding the small piece by hand, I saw again the message addressed to me.
“Run”. Good advice for everyone.
Shit, the bus is slowing down....I feel like sneezing.
Copyrighted September 2010
Chris Pringle, Author [email protected]
Follow the adventures of our intrepid assassin/adventurer as he flees south and pens his memoirs from 2020 in a novel of speculation and prophecy – Après Trois
