101 People to Kill Before I Die Page 19
Morton thought about it for a moment.
"That'll take days."
Branton looked grim.
"I don’t care how long it takes. That asshole is in there somewhere. I want him."
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Around the corner at one of the Yarra Promenade entrances Svetlana was in a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance by two of the medics. She was still wearing her jacket. She'd come out onto the ground level screaming, blood pouring down the front of her body. She was treated immediately by one of the medics. A quick but thorough check was conducted. Possible gunshot wounds to the head. Possible concussion. No other wounds. She was put on a stretcher and evacuated. The ambulance officer inside the vehicle checked her again. He took her jacket off and threw it onto the floor beside her. He carefully patted her down, checking for any other injuries. He reassured her. Told her she was going to be fine. She stared back at him, blankly, without expression. She did not like being fondled.
She waited, not so patiently, while the ambulance drove outside the police cordon and made its way to the nearest hospital, sirens blaring the whole time. After about fifteen minutes the ambulance stopped. They'd obviously made it to the hospital’s emergency entrance. She didn’t hesitate. She retrieved the Nagant revolver from her jacket. She shot the ambulance officer in the chest and the driver in the back of the head, killing them. She didn’t really need to. She could have just got up and run off. But she felt like it. And one of the assholes had touched her. It had been a frustrating evening. She had to find another place to stay, get more weapons. No doubt Mendeleev and his men were all dead. They turned out to be as fucking useless as she knew they would be. Dmitri Alexandrovistch would send more though. It was all just so fucking annoying. And Brian Samuals was the cause of all of it. She'd seen him now, face to face. What a fucking asshole. She just ached to kill him. She didn’t even care how anymore, just so long as he was stone cold dead. The sooner the better.
Chapter 16. The Monkey King Triad.
Mr. Cheng was the head of the Monkey King Triad, one of Hong Kong's most feared and most powerful organized crime syndicates - second only to the Communist Party itself. He had an amazing resemblance to Chow from the Hangover in terms of both facial features and mannerisms. He was in the penthouse apartment at the top of the Strang Building, which he owned. He was in his living room, along with several of his employees and associates. It was a large room, luxuriously appointed, with a panoramic view over the lower Hong Kong business district and Victoria Harbor. None of this mattered to Cheng. He was staring in disbelief at the picture of the man who had just killed his son, Cheng Junior, in a casino shoot out in Melbourne. Brian Samuals! An Australian. He screamed out maniacally,
"Cocksuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."
His subordinates waited anxiously for his orders. There was a dozen or more of them. They were silent, respectful and quite frankly extremely cautious. The boss was a real cunt when he got in a bad mood.
A few minutes later Cheng was visibly calmer. He looked around mournfully. He said out loud, to none of them in particular,
"Someone tell me what happened."
His second in command, Mr. Zhang, knew that it was his responsibility. He spoke up.
"Mr. Cheng. Your son, as you know, was celebrating the completion of his university studies in the Casino in Melbourne, Australia. He was there with two of his friends Feng and Mei, and his body guard Bo Chang."
Cheng interrupted. He asked,
"Was the body guard killed too?"
Zhang replied,
"Yes Sir."
Cheng snarled back,
"Good. Just as well." He paused for a few seconds before ordering, "Kill all of his family here. Make it hurt."
Zhang replied instantly,
"Yes Sir."
He motioned to some of the other subordinates who left the room quickly. They were glad to get out of the room, though they were not looking forward to their task. Most of them didn’t really enjoy killing women and children. It had never occurred to them that maybe they were in the wrong line of work.
Cheng waited until they'd left and then spoke calmly to Zhang,
"Proceed."
Zhang continued his account of the sad and untimely demise of the young Huan Cheng. He spoke with great sorrow and regret as was expected of him.
"Unbeknownst to your son, a notorious criminal and terrorist Brian Samuals was hiding away in one of the hotels. It’s all part of the same complex."
Cheng interrupted him again.
"I am familiar with it. Go on."
Zhang continued,
"Yes Sir. The Australian police located him there and in their typical blunt, moronic and heavy-handed style they stormed the place, all guns blazing. Your son and his friends tried to hide out in one of the bistro restaurants. And this is when ..."
He hesitated. Outwardly Cheng appeared calm but Zhang knew that this was Cheng at his most dangerous. Cheng ordered him to continue.
"Go on."
Zhang spoke slowly and carefully, expressing extreme regret.
"Yes Sir. The criminal terrorist Brian Samuals came into the bistro and for no reason fired at them."
Cheng could barely speak, he managed to ask,
"Were his friends Feng and Mei, hurt?"
Zhang replied,
"Feng was unharmed. Mei caught a bullet in the shoulder. But she'll be fine."
Cheng spoke icily,
"I don’t think so. Kill them both."
Zhang snapped back,
"Yes Sir. We have some men down in Melbourne. I'll organize it the moment we're finished here."
He and all of Cheng's other men in the room knew that Feng and Mei should have jumped in front of Huan Cheng in an effort to save him. Their survival was in itself damning evidence of their guilt and complicity. They deserved to die.
Cheng was staring at Zhang. He asked very quietly,
"What kind of weapon did Samuals use?"
Zhang replied,
"We're not sure Sir, but from the accounts we have it was a machine gun of some kind."
Cheng let out a deep, wailing, keening, scream of anguish. He could see his boy, his dear son, being shattered by an incoming hail of bullets, smashing into his chest and face, destroying him. He cried out,
"We're going to Melbourne. Now! Bring along two hundred of our best men. Organize pickup of weapons at the other end. I want this panda fucking turd butchered. I want him to fucking suffer in absolute agony. I will personally gouge his eyes out and then cut him into small pieces while I fucking piss on him."
He was now speaking more loudly, excited and enraged, his face twisting into an expression of manic rage and hatred. Pure unrelenting, irreversible malevolence. He screamed out,
"Kill fucking Brian Samuals. Kill. Kill. Kill."
They all stormed out of the room towards the lift.
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On Monday night Svetlana had run off from the ambulance at Saint John’s Hospital in East Melbourne. She knew that they'd cleaned her up well, there was no blood on her head or on her clothes. She wouldn’t stand out so long as no-one was looking for her. She had her wallet, some cash, and a second set of fake IDs and credit cards. She couldn’t use the old ones. They'd check them soon enough. She had to get off the streets before anyone noticed the dead ambulance officers. Dam. She shouldn’t have killed them. But how else would she have gotten away. How organized were they? How quickly would they be looking for her? Or looking for her old fake identity - which wouldn’t help them much. She figured she had some time, but not a lot. She made her way down Malvern road until she found an early model car - without electronic keys - broke in, started it up easily enough and drove off. She found a motel flashing a vacancy sign just a mile or so further down the road and pulled in. She got a room without incident and settled in for the night. She turned on the TV to see what was being reported. The attack on the Ca
sino was all over the news. She listened intently. Brian Samuals was clearly stated as the intended target. There were many pictures of him. There was a great deal of speculation as to why all the shooting broke out. Police were yet to make a statement on that. There was no mention of her. No mention of a related shooting at a nearby hospital. They started repeating themselves. She turned it off, smiling. So far, so good. It was still only 10:00 PM but she lay out on the bed and managed to get to sleep. She would need it. She knew the next few days would be very trying.
Early on Tuesday morning she put in a call to Dmitri Alexandrovistch. She still had her old phone, which had also been in her jacket. Eight hours behind. It would be 11:00 PM in Moscow. Dimitri answered quickly. He sounded relieved.
“Svetlana, how are you? I called earlier. No reply. I had a report you were captured when they raided the casino.”
Svetlana said,
"I was. But I'm fine now."
They had come prearranged code words. If she had mentioned Moscow at all he would have known she was under duress. She told him everything she knew - except for the direct confrontation with Samuals in the lift. Alexandrovistch already knew, through his own channels, that the gunmen he'd sent to help her were all captured or dead, including Mendeleev. He didn’t seem to care which, either way they were out of the picture. He promised to send more men. One hundred of them. Immediately. Under the personal command of his most trusted lieutenant Victor Krikov. He stressed to Svetlana now more than ever that he wanted her to kill Brian Samuals and to make him suffer. It was not enough for him to be caught by police. The asshole had to die and die horribly. If possible, he still wanted a video. And he still wanted fucking Boris and Vadim dead too. He told her they'd been captured as well. But he was working on that. Svetlana agreed with him on everything. She noticed that he didn’t mention Jack Williams. Maybe he'd lost interest in him. But Svetlana was determined to kill that little turd as well. Just on principle. Just for being a fucking turd.
She spent the morning going to a few stores nearby getting a few basic items that would be useful as torture implements, rope, tape, pliers, and a blow-torch. She called ahead to make an urgent appointment and then about midday turned up at the local arms dealer she used. Given the current furor he was not pleased to see her. But he knew Alexandrovistch expected him to supply her. He knew this because Alexandrovistch had called him earlier and threatened to have him killed if he didn’t. She walked out with a couple of knives and scabbards, two new Berettas, some magazines and some more ammunition for her Nagant revolver. It would be enough to get started again.
If she wanted to find Brian Samuals then Charlie Samuals was still her only lead. Mr. Alexandrovistch hadn't been able to come up with anything else yet. Which meant that his sources - police informants, and possibly a spy or two here and there - didn’t know anything either. In the afternoon, not really expecting any action, she drove to Charlie Samuals house in St Kilda, at the address she'd been given by Jack Williams earlier. There was a car in the driveway. He might be there! Fuck. She hated impromptu attacks but this was a special case. She parked around the corner and got out of the car, thinking up some plan. Amazingly a man came out of the house, and was walking along the pavement on the other side of the street. She recognized him from the pictures. Charlie Samuals. She was careful not to duck for cover or react in any way. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know she was looking for him. She didn’t want to do anything unexpected, or catch his attention in any way. As it was he turned in her direction, looked her over, but then continued walking. She waited until he turned a corner and then raced across the road to his house and up to the front door. She knocked just in case, but expected to have to pick the lock and let herself in. Wendy opened the door. She asked brightly,
"Hello. What can I do for you?"
When Charlie Samuals returned from the store around the corner and entered his living room. He saw Wendy's body spread out on the floor. Her throat had been cut. There was a thick pool of blood. His eyes instantly took in the whole room. No-one visible. Only one blind spot, behind him to the left. He started to spin around. Svetlana shot him three times in the back being careful to miss anything vital. He sank to his knees. She clubbed him in the back of the head with a brick knocking him unconscious.
When he came to he was naked, tied to a chair, legs pulled apart, arms pulled down behind his back. He struggled for a few moments but the ropes were tight. He wasn’t going to able to break out. Svetlana was standing in front of him, smiling wickedly. He roared out,
"Who the fuck are you?"
Svetlana looked at him calmly.
"Doesn’t matter. What I want is Brian Samuals. Where is he?"
Charlie Samuals groaned. At least now he knew what it was about. It didn’t help much. This bitch looked as tough as they come, and he'd seem them all. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. He replied savagely,
"No idea, cunt."
Svetlana smiled.
"That’s what they all say ... at first."
She turned away from him and walked out of the room.
Charlie sighed. He'd been tortured before. He knew the drill. He’d been told a story about a unique man from the Middle Ages. This individual had been arrested by the Holy Roman Inquisition, back when the Holy Roman Catholic Christian Church was right up there with the Islamic Caliphate when it came down to torturing and executing heretics and blasphemers - which was basically anyone who dared to suggest, directly or indirectly, that they were all just a bunch of murdering power-mongering cunts. But by their own laws the Holy Roman Inquisition couldn’t kill him unless he confessed. They tortured him for nineteen years without breaking his spirit. There wasn’t much left of him after that, every bodily part of him was broken or mutilated. But finally, they had to give up and let him go. It’s all in their records. They kept meticulous records. The man who defeated them, in a manner of speaking, did make a statement. He said that the key to his success was building up and making use of an absolute hatred for his accusers, an intense burning rage against them. Something not too difficult to do under the circumstances. There were no book tours or movie deals back then. He quickly faded into obscurity and died a few years later. The Holy Roman Catholic Christian Church continued torturing and murdering dissidents of any kind for several more centuries. The early Protestant Christian Churches were if anything even better at it, with all the zeal and fervor of youth – though never quite so systematic.
So, the trick was to build up an absolute raging hatred for the interrogator. Not hard. The fucking bitch had just killed Wendy. If he got out he'd choke her out and then snap her neck. But there didn’t seem much chance of that. He could see that she was a pro. He tried tipping over the chair. Might give him some leverage. But she'd thought of that and tied it in place. He wasn’t going anywhere. He barely noticed that he was bleeding from where he’d been shot in the back.
When she returned she was holding a small bag. She retrieved some more rope and tapes, and then a set of pliers and a blow torch. Charlie groaned,
"Oh, for fucks sake."
He didn’t know where Brian was. The only thing he did know was that he'd reminded Brian about his house in Maffra, and given him a spare set of keys. There was no way on God's Earth he was telling her that. Svetlana was staring at him.
"They say you're a tough guy. Special forces."
Charlie snarled back at her,
"Fuck you."
Svetlana smiled again. Cold and nasty.
"No thanks. I don’t like men much. I might sodomize your dead corpse with my knife though when I'm done, you and your bitch over there."
Charlie strained at the ropes, with everything he had. Groaning with effort. Nothing. Svetlana said,
"Ready to tell me? Where's Brian?"
Charlie replied,
"Go to hell, you fucking cunt."
Svetlana shot back,
"I'm sure there's a room there reserved for me, but until then ..."
She stepped back, plugged in the blow torch and waited for it to heat up. She turned on the flame. She moved in close to Charlie and applied it to his upper right calf muscle. Charlie screamed out in agony. Svetlana giggled.
"Oh, sorry, did that hurt?"
She applied the flame to his upper left calf muscle. Charlie screamed out again. The pain was so riveting, so intense that he passed out. She went to the kitchen and retrieved a jug of water and some glasses. She filled a glass and threw it at him, into his face. Charlie woke up again. Svetlana was still standing there. She screamed at him,
"Where's Brian?"
Charlie snapped back,
"Fuck you, you fucking cunt."
She moved back in with the blow torch applying it to his left and right forearm burning through down to the bone. Charlie screamed out again in agony. He passed out again. She woke him up again. She screamed at him again.
"Where's Brian?"
He screamed back,
"Fuck you."
Svetlana was feeling frustrated. No-one should be able to take this. She'd never come across anyone before who could. She'd always laughed at all the American hypocritical wailing on and on about torture, enhanced interrogation, standing them naked, humiliation, sleep deprivation. For fucks sake, sixty seconds with a blow torch was all it ever took her. But not this time. This one was different. Therefore, it was time to escalate.
She approached him again, blow torch alight. Charlie was awake. She moved in between his legs. She sneered at him,
"Men's genitals have always revolted me. You won’t be needing yours."
Charlie strained at the ropes with every ounce of his strength. Howling. They didn’t move a millimeter. She applied the flame to his genitals, balls first. A gentle touch with the flame to begin with. Charlie screamed out in excruciating agony. He started convulsing, gasping for breath. He passed out. Svetlana threw another glass of water in his face. She waited for him to come to and then calmly asked again,