Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

GRAND CENTRAL: TERMINAL By Terrence P. McCauley

James Hicks hadn’t planned on killing anyone that morning.

In fact, his schedule was pretty light. Other than his daily check-in with his operatives, the only thing on his calendar was to blackmail a new asset into working for the University. Some finance geek who hadn’t covered his embezzlement as well as he’d thought. Bad luck for him. Good luck for Hicks. The man would either agree to work for Hicks or evidence of his greed would be sent to the client from whom he’d stolen: a nasty warlord in eastern Europe with a penchant for dismemberment.

Hicks checked his watch when he reached the corner of 45th and Lexington. He’d been trained to be early for his appointments and he was early now. Lateness led to sloppiness and sloppiness got you killed. James Hicks had been in this line of work for a long time and planned on being in it much longer.

The meeting was scheduled to take place at the would-be asset’s office in the MetLife building on Park Avenue, just behind Grand Central Terminal. Plenty of time for Hicks to grab a cup of coffee at a place called Joe’s in the Terminal before he ruined yet another man’s life.

He went through the lobby of the MetLife building and rode the escalator down to the main concourse of the Terminal. There were plenty of other coffee places in midtown, but Hicks liked Joe’s strong, flavorful brew.

He liked the Terminal even more than he liked Joe’s coffee and went there whenever he could. He loved the energy of the place. The hurried people. The connectivity between trains and subways and the buses and cabs outside. Tourists taking pictures of the old building; gawking up at the grandeur of the place while the cops and the people who worked there went about their business.

The agency known as the University had stationed Hicks in New York so long ago, he couldn’t remember living anywhere else, though he’d been posted in several places all over the world. He loved how New York purified old wounds through its energetic indifference to the problems of its citizens. The flow of traffic on busy streets offered instant absolution of past sins because everyone was too busy to care about what you’d done right or what you’d done wrong. The whole city lived in the present with a healthy contempt for the past and a guarded view of the future.

It was James Hicks’s kind of town.

Grand Central reminded him of why he still did this kind of work. It reminded him of the importance of it and such reminders kept him alive. Because losing focus in his line of work would get him killed.

Hicks got off the escalator and entered the stream of people heading toward the Lexington Avenue entrance when he spotted the man who would ruin the rest of his day.

The man who might make his career.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the man in question. He was neither good looking nor tall. Well dressed or shabby. He was just another unremarkable man of medium complexion and appearance, not all that different than the thousands of other people who pass through the terminal every single day.

People didn’t notice this man because they weren’t trained to spot him. But Hicks was. He knew this man was known by many names in many parts of the globe, but the one that stuck longest was Khan, He was one of the deadliest men alive and he was twenty feet away from him walking through Grand Central Terminal.

Hicks forgot all about coffee and his appointment in an hour and began following Khan. He noticed he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but wasn’t carrying a backpack or anything that might have a high-yield kill ratio. He was probably carrying a handgun, but that was to be expected.

Hicks had a.22 holstered in his waistband, but his most valuable weapon at that moment was his smartphone.

Khan’s common appearance had made it difficult for authorities all over the world to capture him. He could pass for Arab, Latin, Israeli, Italian or any of the Baltic nations. The fact that he could easily slip into any of those languages made it even more difficult to spot him. He had no tattoos or particular habits that might trip him up and lead to his capture.

The only reason Hicks knew this man was Khan was because Hicks had seen him once. It had been five years ago when Hicks had been part of a team assigned to wipe out a terrorist cell in Kandahar. It was the kind of black bag op that didn’t make breaking news and no one made movies about. The kind of op that never officially happened. The kind of op men like Hicks spent their lives doing.

Hicks had been wounded in the assault, but saw one terrorist escape in the melee; clambering up a concrete wall of the compound. Hicks’s gun had skidded just out of reach when he fell and the fleeing terrorist spotted him just as he’d reached the top of the wall.

He’d brought his AK-47 around and gauged the distance between them. Shooting the American would be worth it if he could kill him, but taking the shot could cost him his life if he missed. So the two men simply stared at each other – studying each other for what seemed like hours but, in reality was only seconds – until the ops team burst into the yard. By the time Hicks looked back to the top of the wall, the terrorist was gone, but his face was burned into his memory.

In the years following that night, he’d seen that face in intelligence bulletins from all over the world. He saw that face in the terminal now. Ahmed Khan.

He wondered why Khan hadn’t pulled the trigger. Hicks wondered if he himself would’ve taken the shot had his gun been closer. He thought he knew, but thinking and knowing were two different things.

Given Khan’s common appearance, Hicks knew he’d need official confirmation that this man was actually Khan before he killed him. Hence, the smartphone being his most important weapon at the moment.

Hicks walked quickly through the thick crowd, keeping his distance from Khan as he tried to get a decent enough angle to get at least a profile picture of the man. The terminal was always full of people taking pictures at all times of the day, so one more wouldn’t necessarily alert Khan.

But if Khan spotted him – and recognized him – the crowded train station could become a slaughterhouse.

Smartphone in hand, Hicks walked around a group of commuters trudging to work and made like he was taking a picture of the painted ceiling high above the concourse, but snapped a picture of Khan instead. If the terror leader knew his picture had been taken, he didn’t show it. Hicks watched Khan move well past him before he followed.

On the surface, Hicks’s device looked and acted like any other smartphone on the market. He could make calls, surf the web, even download popular apps.

But tapping on one particular app activated the personal camera on his phone, which quietly scanned his face and retina. Once his identity was proven, Hicks was prompted to enter another, longer passcode, which allowed him access to the most secure – and secret – wireless network in the world.

As he followed Khan, a simple screen opened on his phone offering a sparse menu of options. He selected ‘Identification’, which prompted him to select a file to upload. He selected the picture he’d just taken of Khan. It usually took the face recognition software a minute or two before it identified a subject. Since Khan was one of the highest priority targets in the world, a section chief – maybe even the Dean himself – would be notified directly. Hicks would then receive one of three plain orders on his phone:

Cease and desist.

Investigate and report.

Terminate.

Hicks waited for one of these three orders to come in as he followed Khan down to the lower part of the terminal. He didn’t waste time trying to figure out where Khan was going or why. He just watched his target and waited for orders.

As soon as they got to the lower level, Hicks knew why Khan had gone there.

He went into the men’s room.

Hicks didn’t need to follow him in there because there was only one way in and one way out. Since they were underground, there were no windows or other doorways Khan could use to escape. Following him in there could only lead to disaster and Hicks needed to avoid trouble until his orders came through. He drifted over to one of the food vendors instead where he could keep an eye on the bathroom exit while blending in with the dozens of other people lining up to buy lunch.

He felt his phone buzz, but he didn’t check it right away. He didn’t want to miss Khan coming out of the bathroom. Besides, he knew the considerable resources of the University were probably already coming on line.

Hicks’s device had a GPS beacon that the University would use to pinpoint his position to within a foot of where he was standing, even here below ground. They knew exactly where he was standing at that moment and would figure out why he was there. A sweep team was probably already on their way to the terminal for any devices Khan may have planted. But Hicks doubted he’d planted anything because Khan wasn’t the type who liked to watch his own fireworks anymore. These days, he planned attacks, preferring to not get his hands dirty by carrying them out.

He watched Khan come out of the bathroom, patting his hands dry on the front of his t-shirt. It was nice to know that even terrorists washed their hands. He walked past Hicks and up the ramp that led back to the upper level and the street.

Hicks followed at a safe distance and stole a quick look at his device. The text message was as simple as he’d expected:

Target confirmed. Terminate immediately. Varsity en route.

‘Varsity’ was the University term for a back-up team that would support Hicks when he was ready to kill Khan and clean up right after. They’d be able to track his location

But he’d have to stay on Khan’s trail. He pocketed the phone and kept following Khan as he walked up the ramp and took a right. Hicks sped up to close the distance between them. He had to know if Khan was heading toward the subway, which would make it much harder to follow him, or if he was going out toward Forty-Second Street.

Hicks had done too much in his life to think his prayers would be answered by any God, but he prayed the bastard would stay on the street. It would be easier for the Varsity to close in if things started popping.

Khan walked past the subway entrance and went straight out on to Forty-Second Street instead, heading west.

Again, Hicks jogged to keep pace, not wanting to lose sight of a small, dark-complexioned man in a city filled with small dark-complexioned men.

He spotted Khan in the crowd of pedestrians heading west toward Fifth Avenue. He could relax a bit now because the University was tracking his position and direction. If they didn’t already have a visual of them via satellite, they soon would. Even if Khan killed him, it would be tougher for the terrorist to escape their notice.

A man like Khan knew all about agencies like the University and their tactics, so Hicks figured he wasn’t planning on pulling an attack today. But Khan was still a target of opportunity – an opportunity Hicks had every intention of taking.

He followed Khan on a meandering path uptown. He walked north along Vanderbilt, then cut back east to that wide boulevard that was Park Avenue, teeming with office workers from banks and other kinds of financial institutions.

The terrorist walked past them all without even stopping. Hicks blended in with the crowd where he could and drifted toward buildings when the crowd thinned out. Whenever Khan looked behind him, it was never in Hicks’ direction.

They continued on Park until Fifty-Ninth Street when Khan headed west toward Central Park. Once again, Hicks jogged to keep pace with him as he turned the corner, but crossed the street instead, like any other New Yorker trying to catch the light before it changed. Trailing Khan from across the street would make him easier to spot, but Hicks had to take that chance. He could’ve spotted Hicks when he looked behind him on Park, so he needed to change up the angle a bit.

On their current course, Hicks knew they may wind up in Central Park. It would be impossible to tail him through the park without getting spotted. If Khan went into the park, that’s where Hicks would kill him.

He slowed down when Khan also jaywalked across to Hicks’ side of the street, dodging taxis and oncoming cars. Other than throwing a dirty look at a honking cabbie and a cursing bike messenger, Khan never looked back. He followed the terrorist as he crossed Madison, then Fifth; past a knot of tourists gathered at the entrance as he walked into Central Park.

That settled it. Hicks would kill him here.

He checked his phone. No word from the Varsity, so it was up to him. He subtly pulled the.22 from the holster on his belt and held the gun in his jacket pocket as he entered the park. A.22 wasn’t exactly a large caliber gun, but it was good enough to do the job in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. And James Hicks certainly knew how to use it.

Hicks focused less on stealth and more on distance now. The closer he got, the better chance he had of killing Khan quickly. Hicks spotted an ambulance without sirens or lights driving along a path closed to vehicular traffic. He knew there were usually several ambulances in the park at all times, but this one passed Khan and flashed its headlights at Hicks.

Varsity was on scene. Time for Khan to die.

Hicks didn’t think Khan had noticed the ambulance, but he had. He slowed his pace as he turned and saw the only other person on the path behind him.

Hicks.

Khan froze for an instant, just like he’d frozen that night when atop the wall.

By the time Khan reached under his t-shirt, Hicks fired a full clip into Khan’s chest. All six rounds struck in a tight pattern just left of center. The shots from the small gun echoed like firecrackers in the vast openness of the park.

As Khan fell back, Hicks realized there’d been no blood from exit wounds and knew the terrorist was wearing a bulletproof vest. The impact of six rounds to the chest would sting like hell, but the.22 lacked the power to punch through Kevlar.

When he reached Khan, the terrorist was flat on his back. His gun – a nine millimeter Glock – had skidded away from him as the bullets struck home; just as Hicks’ gun had done that night in Kandahar. Khan was reaching for the weapon when Hicks’ foot pinned his hand to the jogging path.

“I counted.” Khan sneered up at him. “You’re empty.”

Hicks ejected the spent clip, slapped in a new one and aimed it down at him. “Not anymore.”

The Varsity team had spilled out of the ambulance close behind him, dressed in regulation EMS gear. They’d even thought to wheel out a stretcher with them.

The team leader – a woman with blue eyes and blonde ponytail – said, “You were supposed to terminate him.”

“He’s wearing a vest. But now we can interrogate him. Don’t worry. The Dean will be pleased.” He smiled down at Khan. “But you won’t be.”

One of the techs patted Khan down; discovering another gun and a knife before zip tying his hands and feet. Khan squirmed like a fish as they slammed him onto the stretcher and buckled him in tight.

Khan struggled against his restraints to get a good look at Hicks as they wheeled him toward the stretcher. “You bastard! I should’ve killed you when I had the chance!”

Hicks smiled as he tucked his.22 away. “Yeah. You probably should have.”

The Varsity members closed the back doors of the ambulance and Hicks watched it drive away. Just another ambulance in a city full of ambulances. Only this one held one of the most dangerous men in the world.

Hicks knew he’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble from the Dean for not finishing Khan. He’d told him several times to carry a handgun with bigger kick, but he’d always refused. He hoped brining in one of the most wanted men in the world alive would count for something, but he doubted it. The Dean wasn’t a man who dealt with disappointment well.

It wouldn’t be the first reprimand he’d ever gotten and he doubted it would be the last. But he always got results and, in this game, that’s what counted.

Hicks checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes to make his appointment with the future asset. Maybe he’d cancel. Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d already done enough good for one day.

He began walking south out of the park and blended back into the changing city where no one knew what he had just done for them. Nor did they care.

And thanks to people like James Hicks, they didn’t have to.

BIO:

Terrence P. McCauley is a crime fiction writer and the winner of the 2008 “Search for the Next Great Crime Writer” contest, sponsored by TruTV. His novel “Prohibition” was published in 2012 with interior artwork by the incredibly talented Rob Moran. Slow Burn was published in 2013, and Terrence has contributed stories to Thuglit issues 1 and 3, Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol 1; Atomic Noir: and Fight Card: Against The Ropes. A life-long New Yorker, McCauley is currently working on his next novel.

http://terrencemccauley.blogspot.com/