Attacking Mr. Chekhovsky

"Hey, Chang. Morning!"

A guy named Carrera greets me with a big smile. I greet him back, exchanging a special handshake with another. Whatever happened at Alfredo's Pizza Shack a few days ago changed things.

It really was a welcoming party. After I took them down with considerable effort, they woke up one by one, laughed it off, and ate pizza and drank beer with me like nothing had happened. What a bunch of boy scouts.

Ten minutes later, Mr. White, our leader, arrives. He starts collecting our phones and distributes earsets.

"Alright, listen up, boys," White begins his morning briefing. I, along with the other ten men, immediately form a row in front of him.

"Today, Mr. Chekhovsky has an important meeting outside. He wants full security, which means all of us will be fully armed and in position," White tells us.

This is one of the tricky things about Mr. Chekhovsky's security protocol. We only learn his schedule in the morning briefing—when all our communication devices have already been confiscated. Even Mr. White, our security leader, only gets the schedule five minutes before we do.

"Jackson, you will drive the lead car. Carrera will take the rear. The inner-level team will be in Mr. Chekhovsky's car. The rest of you, split between the two escort vehicles. Any questions?"

"What time do we leave?" a man asks.

White frowns. "Why is that important?"

"Uh… no reason. It's my mom's birthday. I'm expected to be home early," the man admits hesitantly. Some of the others chuckle.

"It's a lunch meeting. You'll be home before your mom blows out her candles," White replies flatly.

"Anything else?" White scans the group.

We shake our heads.

"Good. Mr. Chekhovsky arrives in 30 minutes. Get to your posts!"

The line immediately dissolves as we move.

"You heard that?" I murmur under my breath.

"Yeah. Lunch meeting, no location," Thief responds through my hidden mic.

"Better than nothing. Have Bob follow the motorcade carefully. He can't get caught. His men will be in position, waiting for my signal. He already knows what it is," I instruct.

"Got it," Thief confirms.

I end the conversation just as I reach my post. With my tongue, I remove a tiny device stuck to my inner teeth, taking it out of my mouth. Another small one from behind my ear follows. I squeeze them together, crushing them to dust.

I stand on the sidewalk in front of a European restaurant, flanked by six other bodyguards. Inside, Mr. Chekhovsky is having a meeting with a man who looks important, guarded by three of his inner-level men, including Mr. White.

Even if there's a feast inside, I know Mr. Chekhovsky won't take a single bite. He only eats food prepared by his wife. Every drink he consumes must first be inspected by Mr. Sternov—his right-hand man, the only person he trusts completely. And since Sternov isn't here, Chekhovsky won't eat or drink a thing.

An hour later, White's voice crackles in my ear. "Check the perimeter before Mr. Chekhovsky exits."

Carrera scans the area. "All clear."

A minute later, Mr. Chekhovsky steps out, flanked by three bodyguards. As he moves, each bodyguard he passes forms a protective ring around him, facing outward.

I adjust my sunglasses before getting into position.

Then—

A deafening blast. The rear car erupts in thick smoke, followed by the sound of shattering glass and twisted metal.

A motorcycle screeches across the road. The rider hurls something directly into our formation.

"Watch out!!"

The guards react instantly, scattering in different directions—leaving Mr. Chekhovsky unprotected in the center.

I spot a longboarder moving toward us, fast but controlled. Unlike the civilians running for cover, he shows no panic.

I move.

In three strides, I reach Mr. Chekhovsky, pushing him down as something collides with my left arm. The pain is sharp, deep, but irrelevant.

With him beneath me, I draw my gun and fire at the longboarder. He shifts at the last moment—the bullet misses.

"Are you alright, sir?" I ask as I pull him to his feet.

He nods, still disoriented.

"We need to get you out of here."

I shove him into the car and slide in beside him. "Drive. Now."

The tires screech as we speed away.

I remove my tie and wrap it tightly around my wound.

"You're hurt!" Chekhovsky exclaims.

"I'm fine, sir."

"We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, sir. My priority is your safety. We're heading back to 617—immediately."

His eyes flick to the fresh blood soaking into the beige seat.

I exhale. "Apologies for staining your car, sir."

Chekhovsky studies me, then unexpectedly smiles.

"Don't worry about it, son. What's your name?"

Back at the safehouse, White shoves me against the wall the second I step inside.

"What the hell was that?!" he growls.

"I was securing him," I reply, tone even.

"You broke protocol."

"It was an emergency."

"There are rules for every emergency!" His grip tightens on my wounded arm. I don't react.

I hold his stare. "Maybe the rules need to change."

"EXCUSE ME!"

A voice interrupts. A security officer lingers hesitantly at the door.

"What?!" White snaps.

"Uh… Mr. Chekhovsky wants to see you. And Chang as well."

White releases me. We head out.

"HOW COULD YOUR MEN LEAVE ME UNGUARDED?!"

Chekhovsky's voice cuts through the room like a blade.

"Sir… it—it was instinct—" White stammers.

"So you taught them it's okay to abandon me on instinct?" His voice is cold, controlled.

White struggles to find words. "I—I'm sorry, sir."

"There is no room for error, White."

White stiffens. "Sir… please… It won't happen again—"

"You know the rules, White."

White's hands tremble. "Sir, I—please—"

"White… White…" Chekhovsky's voice softens. "Look at me."

Trembling, White lifts his gaze.

"Thank you for your service."

A gunshot echoes.

White collapses.

Blood pools around his motionless body.

QUICK QUIZ:

Did you catch Scott's signal for the attack? Leave your answer in a comment below! ^_~