101 People to Kill Before I Die Read online

  "So, where are they?"

  Williams shook his head.

  "I don’t have the slightest fucking idea. Could be anywhere. The police investigation is spread across a few departments. They're all still trying to identify them so no-one other than me is searching for them just yet. They're looking for Natasha Brown of course, but she's small change. If Brian's got her he'll keep her hidden. He's not stupid. Well, not completely. As for the others, Brian, the Russians, nothing. But that'll change. Any day now."

  Svetlana nodded.

  "OK."

  Dmitri had a lot of resources and contacts other than this slimy little ferret. There were already another thirty men on the ground and more on the way - all at her disposal. They'd come up with something. She wasn’t going to tell Williams any of that. She simply said,

  "All right. I'll be on my way. You have my contact number and email. Send me all the details you have, and the video. Encrypted. Call me if you find out anything more."

  Williams replied,

  "Sure thing."

  He hated being given orders so casually by this bitch. But she had been sent by Alexandrovistch. Man, she was good looking. He’d heard that she was a lesbian. What a fucking waste.

  They called for another cab. While they waited Williams continued to check her out. She thought, 'What an asshole'. He was clearly imagining getting it on with her. She grimaced. Ugh! She'd cut his cock off and feed it to him long before anything like that was ever going to happen. In fact, yes, she'd probably do just that when the time came. The thought pleased her. The cab arrived. She got up, smiled at him and then said to him very sweetly,

  "Good bye Jack."

  And then she walked out the door. Encouraged by the sudden and unexpected sweetness in tone, and watching her ass gently sway from side to side as she walked away, he got an instant erection, thick and hard. Man. What a woman!

  The cab ride from Coburg into the city should have been a simple matter. But something was wrong. There were police cars everywhere and a lot of choppers buzzing angrily overhead. As they got in closer the traffic quickly became more congested. Their progress slowed to a crawl. She could see squads of police in full riot gear armed with machine guns patrolling nearby. Many of the streets were being blocked off. She asked the cab driver,

  "What's going on?"

  The cab driver groaned. He explained,

  "Bad day. Someone just killed the US Ambassador and the Victorian Premier, a rocket attack at Federation Square. That’s a fair way from here. But they’re putting up road blocks everywhere."

  Svetlana smiled. She didn’t care much for Americans, or for Premier what's his face. No skin off her nose. Still it was inconvenient. She'd be late getting to her hotel. There would be a lot of heat - not so good for the success of her undertaking. Oh well. Shit happens. Whatever. She wondered briefly who'd done it. There would soon be a fucking army hunting that poor bastard.

  They finally arrived at her hotel around 7:00 PM. She paid the driver and then headed inside. She was staying at the Crown Metropol Hotel next to the Crown Casino. It took her a while to find the hotel itself. The whole place was a vast sprawling complex, multiple levels, corridors spinning off in all directions. But finally, she found the hotel lobby and strolled across it to the front desk. She checked in and was given her key card. She went straight to her Suite on the seventh floor - Suite 739. As she walked down the hall past Suite 725 she heard groans of passion and the sounds of a girl screaming - not in fear or pain but screams of delight. Well, at least someone was having a good time. Her rooms were nice enough, facing north with a good view of the CBD and the Yarra River. She'd only just missed Boris and Vadim who'd come up only half an hour earlier and Brian who'd arrived only an hour before that. Back in room Suite 725 Brian and Natasha were still eagerly and passionately fucking each other’s brains out. They'd been at it for quite some time.

  She was too wired, too exhausted to sleep. She had a quick shower, changed her clothes and decided to go for a walk, grab a drink somewhere. After that a good night's sleep would help sync her in with the local time zone. Naturally she kept her weapons on her. She knew that carrying weapons in Australia, concealed or otherwise, was a serious crime. But she also knew that if she ever got picked up for anything they would soon identify her and link her in with her Interpol file. It was a long file. She'd be going down for life, in some shit hole somewhere. Never going to happen. No-one would ever take her alive. Fucking no-one.

  She left the Crown Complex - there were plenty of bars there but it was too busy, too hectic. She walked down Spencer Street for a while. It was just starting to get dark. She saw a small Bar, ‘The Riverside’, tucked away in a side street. She walked over to it, and went inside. It had a nice feel to it - a cool, quiet ambience. Not too crowded. She walked up to the bar itself, took a seat and ordered a glass of white wine - chardonnay. She tried to unwind a bit, just sitting there, sipping her wine, looking around without any real focus or interest. It wasn't a large room. There were a few pictures on the wall. There were several tables in addition to the main bar. There was a music player in the corner. It was playing some light jazz. In the room, there were eight men and four women in addition to herself - none of them were armed as far as she could tell. Not too many people, plenty of room, but it was still early. This looked like the sort of place that would fill up as the night went on. But right now, it was perfect. Inevitably two or three of the men tried to hit on her. She had a simple, and usually quite effective, response to this. She would stare back at them, oblivious to whatever inane line or strategy that they'd attempted, and then snarl at them,

  "Fuck off."

  She would do this with a depth of feeling that usually managed to effectively convey the intended underlying threat - without the need to say it out loud,

  “Or I will kill you.”

  Unfortunately, there was always someone just too fucking thick to grasp the fucking obvious.

  She left the bar about an hour or so later thinking that she would just go back to the hotel and try to get some sleep. One of her thwarted suitors and a friend of his followed her out of the bar. She saw them and was instantly on alert. She walked back up Spencer Street towards the Hotel. They followed her. She didn’t speed up or cross the street. She simply continued walking along, calmly. They were no threat to her. Not in the slightest. They were gaining on her. She smiled. As she was crossing Boden Street they rushed forward, grabbed her and pushed her into a small side street. To the left off Boden Street, just a few meters from the main intersection. It was a narrow, dimly lit. They pushed her along the sidewalk and then around behind the first building - where they were no longer visible from the main road. She let them do this. She was looking forward to a little bit of fun. So were they. Her version of what was about to unfold was very different from theirs.

  They were both moderately drunk, she could smell the beer on their breath. They were both tall, reasonably strong, but pudgy too, overweight, unfit. They weren't nervous at all, or unsure of themselves. They'd probably done this before, and more than once. The taller of the two, the one she'd told to fuck off, held her by the shoulders, facing her. His friend took a step back. Looking her over. Leering at her. The man holding her sneered at her,

  "Not so aloof now, are we sweet-cheeks?"

  She executed a sharp snap kick to the shins. Her shoes were steel capped. At the exact moment that he winced with pain, and lost concentration, she reached up, one hand grabbing his hair at the back of his head, the other hand cupping his chin. She made a sudden sharp twisting move, with all her force, at just the right angle, snapping his neck - at the junction between the second and third vertebrae - killing him instantly. She let the body drop to the ground in front of her.

  His friend was backing away, terrified. He stumbled and fell back onto his back. She quickly moved forward and stood next to him, looking down at him. The gutless prick was squealing and blabbering. Nothing she hadn't seen before. She pulled out
the Nagant, and attached the silencer, but didn’t point it at him yet. He stared up at her, still blubbering. She put one hand on her hips, moved slightly to accentuate them and then asked him mockingly,

  "Do you like my body? Something to die for?"

  He tried to reply. Stammering something, incoherently. She took aim with the vintage revolver and then put two rounds into his groin. He started howling with pain. Hmmm. Bit too much noise. This wasn't Russia, where she could do whatever she wanted and take as long as she felt like. No time to play. She quickly put two in the head, re-holstered her weapon and casually strolled off. She was cautious turning back onto the main road. But no-one seemed to have noticed anything. She started walking back towards the hotel.

  Svetlana arrived back at the Crown Metropol and went straight to her room. As always after a fight, and especially after a kill, she was feeling excited and energized. So much for sleeping. She opened the internet option on the large screen TV and went to her favorite site, 'Dial A Lesbian'. There were separate pages for most major cities. She browsed through the categories: sweet and submissive, girl next door, steamy and erotic, hot and aggressive - checking out the girls as she did so. She found someone to her liking under hot and aggressive - Emma, Emma with the scowl. She looked good. But then she reflected, no one was as hot and aggressive as she was herself. She'd better get another girl as well. Oh yes Jennifer. Jennifer with the 'come fuck me if you dare' look. Jennifer! Definitely!

  She turned on the TV to watch while she waited. It was a very busy Friday night in Melbourne. The city was abuzz. The rocket attack on the US Ambassador and the Victorian Premier was all over the news. One of the biggest law enforcement mobilizations in Australian history was well under way. No doubt hordes of CIA goons were already on their way too - jetting across the Pacific. She hoped that they got the stupid prick who did it very quickly. Now that she'd thought about it some more she'd realized that it really didn’t fit in with her plans. Until he was caught there would be cops everywhere, surveillance cameras everywhere else, security checks at every point, spooks of every persuasion around every second corner, every data record everywhere, checked and double checked, every communication tapped, listened to, recorded and analyzed. A nightmare for her in her line of work.

  When the two call girls arrived the three of them had a drink together - some sweet white wine - and then got straight into it. They were soon just three naked female bodies writhing together on the large queen size bed in the bedroom. Each of them in her own way vying for dominance - but there was never any doubt who would win that one. Svetlana let out a moan of sheer ecstasy as Jennifer started licking her between the legs with great vigor and enthusiasm. She spread her legs wider, arched her back - clitoris engorged, juices flowing. Oh! That was just so fucking awesome. She screamed out. Again and again.

  Meanwhile down the hall in Suite 725 Brian and Natasha were still at it, nearing completion. Now they were doing it doggy style, both enjoying it immensely. Natasha arched her back further, dropped her head lower, and whimpered with delight, eagerly expressing her deep appreciation of the exceptionally large penis now pounding into her, so rhythmically and vigorously - and the strong hands firmly gripping her thighs. Brian was just lost in the moment, really going for it, hard, thrusting, enjoying, overwhelmed by, her luscious beauty and her soft, curvaceous and sublimely enticing bottom. He didn't yet know what a shit storm he'd just created for himself - and remained blissfully unaware that this would be just the beginning. It would get tens of thousands of times worse.

  Across the hall in Suite 712 Vadim was staring greedily at more live streaming porn, fantasizing about some bondage and discipline action, with Svetlana as the dominant. He wondered where she was right now, what was she doing. He whimpered as an image of a large thick strapon jutting out from her groin fixated itself in his porn-addled brain, but he didn’t dare to even touch himself - not with Boris in the room. Boris wished he had a woman with him but instead was researching Brian Samuals on the internet - every detail of his life he could find - and thinking up ways to find him and kill him. He wished desperately to find out where the fucking asshole was hiding right now.

  Jack Williams had installed surveillance gear in Svetlana's room before she'd even booked in. He’d helped in the construction of her fake ID so he knew who she'd be arriving as - and from that he was easily able to look up which suite, which hotel. Being a cop had its advantages. Unfortunately, Boris and Vadim had gotten their fake IDs independently of him, so that he had no idea where they were. He was watching Svetlana and her two new friends cavorting on the queen size bed in Suite 739. He was watching them on his laptop in his study back at his home in Preston. You gotta love the internet. He couldn’t believe his eyes. God! It was just so fucking erotic. His pants were around his ankles and he was jerking off frantically. Fuck! What a woman! All three of them!

  Around town, under the aegis of various agencies and departments, domestic and foreign, small elite teams of hardened operatives were being assembled and prepared - highly trained, patient and methodical, steely eyed, tight lipped, tight assed killers, sanctioned by the state, calmly waiting for further orders. Ready, willing and able to smash through doors and windows and machine gun to death duly designated targets. Rumors spread of an impending bomb attack in the subways and chaos erupted. Thousands of panicked travelers ran screaming through crowded tunnels and stations. Hundreds of thousands of commuters were stranded in the inner city as rail and bus links were closed down. Multiple police and military groups in full combat gear and armed with machine guns patrolled the city streets.

  And the city itself, ablaze with action and intent, fear and hysteria, started screaming - as the pace accelerated, as overheated desire thickened and coarsened, and as the hate and the rage escalated beyond bound. The demons, as always, were howling with delight, as they surveyed the chaos they created and constantly provoked, feeding off it, glaring out through bloodshot eyes, constantly craving more death and desolation in all of its forms.

  Chapter 10. The Organized Crime Division.

  Jack Williams did look like a nasty little ferret. He was seated at a large desk in an office in the Russel Street Police Complex. It was Saturday morning, but in view of yesterday’s events everyone was working over-time. He was looking around, fidgeting. He was on the fifth floor. There was not much of a view. This was not his usual office. He was filling in for his boss, Commander Nigel Field, who was vacationing in Italy. He was vaguely wondering if history was about to repeat itself though he'd made no actual request to his Russian handlers. As acting commander of the Organized Crime Division, he had no direct role in the investigation into the shooting at the Strip Club. He was trying to figure out how to find Brian Samuals and how Brian had got himself mixed up in all of this. Was it just chance? Couldn't be. He hadn’t made any connection between Brian and yesterday's assassination of the American Ambassador and the State Premier. The Anti-Terrorism Division was taking the lead on that one. But they were all expected to help in any way possible.

  There was a knock on the door. Three men came into his office. The first was Assistant Commissioner Michael Branton, the man in overall charge of the Major Crimes Command - which included his own division. The second was Commander David Morton who was in charge of the Special Operations Group. They were the guys who went in guns blazing when the circumstances required it. The equivalent of the American SWAT teams. Jack had often thought that the Americans had coined the better acronym. Though the SOG guys privately referred to themselves as the Sons of God which showed no lack of confidence on their part. The third man was unknown to him.

  Michael Branton spoke first,

  "Morning Jack."

  Jack grunted back,

  "Morning."

  Branton pointed to the SOG Commander,

  "You know David."

  Jack replied,

  "Sure. Gooday mate."

  David Morton nodded and kept quiet. This slimy little prick was no mate o
f his. Then Branton pointed to the stranger,

  "This is Chuck Miller, an adviser from the American Embassy." He turned towards Chuck. "Chuck, this is Detective Chief Inspector Jack Williams. He's the acting Commander of the Organized Crime Division down here in Victoria."

  Chuck Miller was friendly enough. He extended his hand,

  "Good morning Chief Inspector."

  Jack took his hand. Shook it. Not too warmly. He replied,

  "Good morning Chuck."

  Jack was dismayed. He was thinking to himself,

  “This guy is a spook. It’s written all over him. What the fuck is a spook doing here. Had to be the Russian connection. Oh Shit. This was about to get interesting. And dangerous.”

  They were soon all seated around his desk. Assistant Commissioner Branton pulled out his mobile phone, and selected a video. He looked carefully at Williams. He said,

  "Jack, we're all a bit concerned about something."

  He held the phone up so Jack could see and played the recording. It was the shoot out in the Strip Club. Brian Samuals gunning down the little Russian turd. He'd thought this might be coming. He was ready. The video finished. Branton put the phone away. He continued speaking,

  "We know you had a copy of the video sent to you. It’s in the log. You were here late that night! Did you watch it?"

  Jack knew this was a trap. That he'd watched it would also have been logged. Hopefully what wasn’t logged was that he'd taken a copy and sent it to the Russians. If it was he knew he was fucked, and they were just playing with him. But he’d been very careful. They were all looking at him. He replied carefully,

  "Yeah. Didn’t see anything in it."