Dual Assassins Read online

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  Dual Assassins

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 Edward Vogler

  v2.0

  Cover Photo © 2015 thinkstockphotos.com. All rights reserved - used with permission.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  This book is dedicated to June, my bride, my wife, my partner for life. Thank you for your continuous encouragement and being that special person in my life.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  It was April 1950, St. Louis, Missouri. Jim Wilson, Director of Research and Development at S & S Engineering, hurried to the conference room. Carl Johnson, a tall slender man with straight black hair sat at the long, highly polished walnut table. He fingered through papers in a folder in front of him while holding his head up with his other hand.

  As Jim entered the room, Carl snapped his head up and with a forced smile said, “Come on in, Jim, and close the door.” Carl motioned with his hand for Jim to sit and closed the folder in front of him.

  Jim pulled a black leather chair back from the table and sat across from Carl. He grabbed a mug from the tray in the middle of the table and filled it with hot coffee from the stainless steel vacuum pitcher.

  “You, Carl?” Jim asked as he raised the pitcher toward Carl. Carl grinned, shook his head and raised his hand, gently declining. Jim observed Carl’s hesitation and returned the pitcher to the tray. Jim raised the mug to his lips with both hands while resting his elbows on the table. He inhaled the fresh coffee aroma and gently blew on it to cool it. Jim peered over the cup, “What’s up, Carl? You look like you lost your best friend, everything okay?” He took a sip.

  Carl stared at the table, then raised his head and with wrinkled brow said, “MacDonald is coming and he wants to see you and Reanna here tomorrow morning at nine.”

  Jim winced, bolted upright in his chair, took a deep breath and exhaled, “What does he want?” He took another sip of coffee.

  Carl shook his head, swallowed hard and held up his hand as if warding the question off. “I don’t know. He just said to make sure you and Reanna are here tomorrow at nine. You know how the Agency is…need to know.”

  Jim glanced at Carl, then glared down at the table. “Sometimes I wonder if joining the CIA was the wisest thing for me to do.”

  “You’ve done wonders for the Agency and the country. I know you didn’t mean that,” said Carl, frowning.

  “Don’t worry, Reanna and I will be here tomorrow, no problem. But it’s been a while since either one of us have been active. I thought the CIA had long forgotten about us.”

  Carl grinned, “Fat chance of that ever happening. They have an excellent memory--in fact too good if you ask me. You know you can always count on me if you need anything…you and Reanna.”

  “Thanks,” responded Jim as he got up from the table and returned to his office. He sat behind his desk and tapped nervously on its surface.

  Damn, how would he break this to Reanna?

  After a few moments, he picked up the receiver and held it against his ear as he dialed the hospital. Soon he was talking with Reanna.

  “Honey,” Jim said, “don’t stop anywhere on your way home tonight. Something important has come up and we need to talk.”

  “Okay, but what happened?”

  “Umm…let’s just say we have a get-together with Mac tomorrow morning here at the office.”

  “Damn,” said Reanna. “Does this mean—?”

  “Don’t know…probably, but we—“

  “We’ve done our share,” pleaded Reanna. “We need time for ourselves.” The phone line went silent for a moment, then Reanna continued, “Sorry, hon. I’ll support you with whatever happens. You know that.”

  “Thanks, I know you will. I’ll see you at home later this afternoon. I love you.”

  Reanna’s shoulders slumped while she stared at the telephone. She didn’t want to go anywhere. They both had good jobs and a good life. She’d had enough spy business to last her a lifetime. If she didn’t go, Jim would feel abandoned. But if he went and she didn’t, it could affect their marriage. What was Jim going to do?

  Chapter Two

  Jim and Reanna arrived early at S & S the following day and entered the conference room. They walked to the other side of the table and sat down facing the door.

  “This is a beautiful room,” said Reanna, scanning the walnut paneled room. “Hope you don’t have to leave it. I told the nursing director at the hospital that I wouldn’t be in today. So I have the entire day—“

  “Good morning,” said Jim as Sandy, a tall thin woman, entered the room wearing a long straight dress. She carried a silver tray containing a coffee pitcher, cups and an assortment of breakfast cakes and placed it in the middle of the table.

  “Morning Mr. Wilson…Reanna,” said Sandy with a warm smile. She filled two cups with steaming coffee, added cream to one cup and placed in front of Reanna. She then placed a cup in front of Jim and said, “Here’s your black one, Mr. Wilson. If you need anything else—“

  “Morning,” said Carl as he entered the room holding a coffee mug and sat down across from Jim and Reanna. Without saying a word, Sandy retreated and left the room, just like a rabbit running from the hunter.

  Carl grabbed the coffee pitcher and topped off his mug then settled back in his chair.

  “What’s going on?” asked Jim as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “Don’t know. Mac’s on the telephone in my office now. He’ll be here shortly.” Carl turned toward Reanna, “How’s everything at the hospital…still working in OR?”

  “Yes, being the nursing supervisor keeps me busy,” she said with a bubbly light voice. Her eyes sparkled as she continued, “Something different happens every day. I’m busy but I love it.”

  Bob MacDonald, who looked to be in shape for being nearly fifty years old, entered the room, “Good morning, everybody,” as he glanced at each one at the table.

  “Morning, colonel,” said Jim prompting an immediate frown on Mac’s face as he sat down next to Carl, and let out a heavy sigh. He clenched his jaw and stare
d at Jim.

  “Sorry, Mac, I guess old habits die hard.”

  “You two ex-Marines are something,” said Carl with a grin.

  Mac snapped his head and fixated on Carl with a glassy stare. “No such thing as an EX-Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine. We only wear a different uniform.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by—”

  “Carl, you can leave us now,” Mac retorted. “I need to discuss business with both Jim and Reanna…in private.”

  Carl didn’t respond. His face flushed, he grabbed his coffee mug, and, without any eye contact, he left the room. Jim and Reanna exchanged glances then focused on Mac.

  “You best get over those old habits,” said Mac in a calm voice. “Old habits can one day kill you.”

  Silence filled the room. Jim and Reanna followed Mac’s every move as he grabbed the pitcher and filled his cup with hot coffee. Returning the pitcher to the tray, he brought the steaming cup to his mouth and downed half the cup as if it was a shot of whiskey before returning the cup to the table. He fingered the top of the coffee cup then looked up and focused on Jim and Reanna.

  “We have been assigned an important mission and it will involve both of you.”

  Jim and Reanna exchanged glances.

  MacDonald continued, “As you know, South Korea is in a state of flux. During the past year, the U.S. has recalled most of the troops and equipment from the country. In fact, most of the tanks and heavy equipment have been donated to various local governments. In one instance, large numbers of trucks and equipment have been dumped into the ocean to form an artificial reef to provide living space for the local sea life.”

  “That sounds like a total waste,” said Jim. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re right,” responded Mac. “The weapons the South Koreans do have are those left by the Japanese after the war.”

  “That still doesn’t make any sense,” said Jim, staring at Mac with narrowed eyes. Reanna reached under the table and held Jim’s hand.

  “Meetings are currently being held between the North and the South but so far, they haven’t had any positive results. Actually, the conditions there are getting worse. Frank Henderson, the under-secretary of state plans to attend a secret meeting in Seoul in eight days. He’s young and bold and, frankly, I think he’s in way over his head.”

  “Well, how does this affect me?” asked Jim, folding his arms across his chest.

  “We have received some information that suggests the Russians intend to assassinate Henderson while he’s there. They want to combine forces with North Korea and provoke us into another war. We’re not prepared or willing to enter a war with Russia. This is critical, Jim. We need you to prevent that from happening.”

  “Korea?” Jim yelped as he bolted upright in his chair. “Me…why me?”

  “Because you’re good and the country needs you. Do you remember when you were captured by the Japanese during the last war?”

  Jim shot Mac a look as his eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. “Do I remember? Is that what you asked?” Mac remained motionless in his chair and returned Jim’s stare.

  Jim continued, “I remember it as if it was yesterday--every day. It never goes away. The sounds of my beatings still echo in my head…the unbearable pain. They beat me to within an inch of my life. I still smell my captors’ unwashed and sweating bodies and the smell of blood…my blood as it trickled down my body.”

  Jim’s skin bunched around his eyes, his jaw clenched again. “On my lucky days, I’d eat nothing but a meager portion of rice covered with bugs for days on end.” Jim remained focused on Mac, cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he continued, “Yes, I can remember...I can’t forget. I just try to live with it every day, every…”

  Reanna squeezed Jim’s hand again under the table and his face began to relax. With flushed face, he shifted his weight back in his chair.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mac. After a short pause, Mac continued, “The country needs you. We need you in Washington in two days. You’ll get the particulars then. You won’t be alone in Korea. Henderson will have a guard detail traveling with him to protect him in Seoul. So for you, it should be a comparatively easy mission.”

  Jim raised his coffee cup to his lips with both hands and took a sip of coffee, looking at Mac over the rim of the cup. “Easy mission…I’ve heard that before. But why do you need me if he has a guard detail with him?”

  “He’ll have the DSS, Diplomatic Security Service with him. They’ll focus on Henderson’s safety, a reactive mode I might add. You on the other hand will search out the assassin. You must eliminate the threat before any possible assassination attempt.”

  “Do we know the assassin. What’s his name?”

  “You’ll get more details when we discuss it further at headquarters. You will only have five days after arriving in Seoul to accomplish your mission and then Henderson is scheduled to arrive.

  “And what do I do with the assassin if and when I find him?’ What about the —“

  “There’s absolutely no if about this mission. You must find him.” Mac stared hard at Jim. “I understand the sheer weight I’m placing on you, but this is critical--it must be accomplished. Pull out all the stops. You are authorized to do whatever is necessary to eliminate the threat.”

  Jim saw Reanna’s moistened eyes. She was motionless and returned his look but didn’t speak. Jim peered down at his hands as if they held some type of answer, then snapped his head up. “Okay, I’m in.”

  Mac turned toward Reanna, “Two days after Jim leaves, you’ll come to Washington for details as well. You’ll hook up with Jim two days after that. Since you speak Russian fluently, you’ll be a natural on this mission. You both will support each other.”

  Jim eyeballed Mac then said, “But how do I—”

  “You’ll get all the necessary details at headquarters,” responded Mac. “So you need to get ready.”

  Mac looked at Reanna. “You’ll be traveling as a Russian citizen. You’ve done that before so only bring your Russian passport and Russian inserts. You know the drill. You both have my private number where I can be reached day or night. I’ll see you at headquarters.”

  Mac said, “Have a nice day.” He then turned and strutted out of the room.

  Reanna looked at Jim. “That man would never win a popularity contest.”

  “Yeah, but he’s good at what he does. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “But Jim, he’d—“

  “Reanna, he has saved us both before. He’s tough on the outside but has a good heart. He’ll do anything for you. Come on, let’s go home. We have a lot to do.”

  Chapter Three

  Jim turned the light on in the living room that evening, crossed the room, bent down and lit the kindling in the fireplace which he had layered with fresh logs early that morning. Since he would be leaving for Washington soon, he promised Reanna a nice quiet romantic evening.

  Reanna entered the room wearing her favorite white robe. Her silky shoulder length brown hair shone in the flickering light. Jim smiled as he inhaled her scent. She carried two glasses. “We’ve got some bubbly tonight,” she said, taking a seating on the couch and placing the glasses on the coffee table.

  Jim began pulling the drapery cord to close the drapes when the window was hit with a “thwack, thwack, thwack.” Several glass shards flew into the room. Reanna yelled, “Get down, get down,” and Jim immediately dropped to the floor, hands over head.

  Without hesitation, Reanna dashed grabbed her Russian made Tokarfua pistol which was kept hidden by the door, and she bolted outside. She sprinted toward the black sedan which was parked across the street next to the dim streetlight. The driver was in clear view through the open driver’s window. His eyes shot open when he saw Reanna running out of the house and saw a muzzle flash from her hand and the unmistakable crack. The engine roared to life and the car lurched forward as the tires squealed. The car accelerated down the street. Reanna raced t
o the center of the street, faced the speeding car, took careful aim with both hands, then pop, pop, pop. The rear window shattered, pieces of glass flying in all directions, as the car sped away. She watched the car until it disappeared around the corner at the end of the block. She ran back into the house and found Jim kneeling on the floor, holding his head with blood oozing between his fingers.

  “Oh God,” Reanna cried out as she ran to Jim and fell to her knees in front of him. She flipped her weapon to the floor. With a few tears, she pulled Jim’s hand away. Anticipating massive damage, she was relieved to find several small pieces of glass from the window embedded in his forehead and a laceration on his cheek.

  “I’m okay. Jeez honey, the war’s been over for five years. I’ve had enough shooting there to last me a lifetime. I didn’t expect this, especially not here at the house. Are you okay?”

  “I’m alright,” she said, then quickly stood and crossed the room and flipped off the lights. The glow of the burning kindling in the fireplace provided the only light in the room, casting dancing shadows on the wall. She returned to Jim, picked up her pistol in her right hand and approached the side of the large window. She pulled back the drapes about an inch with her left hand and peered outside.

  “I didn’t hear the weapon,” said Reanna. “I only heard the window being hit. He must have had a silencer and took the shot when he saw you by the window.”

  When the shooter didn’t return, she returned to the living room with a first aid kit and joined Jim on the couch. She removed the small glass shards from his face, dabbed his cuts with an antiseptic then covered them with a few band aids. They both took turns peeking out the window, looking for the shooter as they talked.

  “You sure went into action fast, honey,” said Jim. “I didn’t think you could move like that. When I got hit with the glass I became disoriented. Did you see who it was?”

  “Yes, a man in a black sedan, Pontiac I think…maybe a 1948 or 49 model. The man was alone in the car, and as soon as he saw me, he took off with great gusto.”

  “The way you went out the door, I can’t say I blame him.” Jim emitted a few chuckles.