Snippets #2

The puzzle was getting more and more complicated, with a bunch of nobodies, a political enemy, and a lot of food. No effort to hide anything. No sound from the L23’s. Everyone must be in the backyard.

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“There go my babies. One by one they’re shutting down. The place is being swept. OK, you tell me why a bunch of nobodies don’t want to be heard,” asked Jack?

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“I have a special surprise for you!” Simpson exclaimed. “I have instructed Anya to throw out all your food. She has spent all day preparing Salad Olivier, Kotlety Pozharskie, Badymzhan, Dolmasy and Belorussian Borsch.” The room came alive with excitement. Congressman Rhinehardt reached over to the senator and patted him on the back. “You have always known how to please an audience. What a fabulous treat for us all,” he said. One of the guests said, “I haven’t had any Dolmasy since I was 18, and that was 45 years ago. This is a great gift.”

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“We have all been here for many, many years. Our task was monumental, yet here we sit in our old age looking for that next adventure. Your dedication to our beloved Rodina has been superior in all ways. I am now happy to announce that…” The senator was cut off by Anya entering with the shot glasses of vodka. She slowly passed them around until each held it with both hands as if they were about to take communion.

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Ron looked over at Jack. He was intensely studying the voice patterns and tagging them when he found a name related to that pattern. He really wasn't listening too carefully to the conversation. "Wake up!" Ron hissed. "Are you even listening to what they are saying? We've got a whole room full of Ruskies that have been here covertly for forty-five years, and all you can think about is voice patterns?"

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"Screw the tools," Jack said calmly. "They have us blocked. I'm sure they have heavy weapons." Jack rapidly shucked his telephone worker’s disguise, checked his Ruger and counted his clips. He shoved his weapon into the shoulder holster under his brand new sports coat. "Did you call for back-up yet?" he yelled to Ron

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Jack's stomach came up into his throat. There were two toddlers playing in their sandbox in back of the house. Their mother was next to the back porch, weeding a flower bed. “I have to get out of here, now," he thought. As he turned to jump back over the fence he heard heavy footsteps running toward him. The truck driver had dropped off his passenger to follow Jack on foot. The Russian started to climb over the fence. Jack saw his massive body just on the other side of the grape stakes. Jack fired. Four shots went directly through the fence and into the gut of the Russian, who let off a string of shots as he slumped over the top of the fence.

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There was a red square lit button on the console between the Cadillac driver and his front seat passenger. The driver looked over to the passenger with a deep, blank stare, and while slowly cocking his head to one side, he pushed the button.

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The twenty minute drive to D.C. might as well have been a lifetime for Jack. His eyes were blurring and his hands were trembling, and he kept seeing the face of that precious little girl. “Senator Simpson is going to pay. He and his Commie buddies are going to pay, if I have to kill every one of them myself,” he thought to himself. Jack opened his cell and called the D.C. office.

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