Hell on Earth Page 7

  “Making the owner of a well-known DC lobbying firm go bye-bye might require more than you think,” Gus said.

  “One thing we’ll need is the Salvatores monitored at all times. If they tip off Worthum, my opportunity to find the Al-Kazar money thread disappears. Clarice met me at the door with a Glock in my face.”

  “Holy shit, Muerto! You didn’t kill her?”

  “I thought about it, Johnny. I took it off her. There’s no doubt if she could set me up to be killed, she’d do it. This never gets to Rachel. Is that understood?”

  “Hell,” Gus retorted, “we know better than to say anything to Rachel. She’d go hunt Clarice down in broad daylight with a shotgun. Is there any other way to question Worthum? Maybe if we hack into everything he has his finger on, we can learn where the Al-Kazar connection enters the picture.”

  “Worthum’s a traitor, user, blackmailer, extortionist, and deserves being shot in the head,” Nick replied. “I think if other lobbyist traitors and venomous snakes in Congress start disappearing, maybe I could send a message that it may not be safe to enter treasonous waters.”

  “Uh oh… I think Muerto has his eyes set on Leila Rackson-Gree, Kabong.”

  “I agree with everything you have said, Muerto,” Johnny added. “I have learned if you go to DC to kill all the traitors and blackmailers, there may not be anyone left.”

  Breathing in the inner rage, Nick stood. “I’ll make the calls to Paul from the beach with the satellite phone. Let’s take Deke and a thermos of the Irish. We’ll watch the waves and the gray skies. I’ll need to absorb the coolness before I hit the Sand.”

  * * *

  Ray Worthum walked toward his Georgetown penthouse, smiling with satisfaction at a day of progress in all ongoing transactions, both on Capitol Hill and negotiations with foreign clients. He loved his R Street home. Well-kept buildings on both sides of the wide street, hedges, trees, manicured shrubbery, all a wonderful backdrop to the night and street lamps. Clear, cold, and fresh to his eyes, Ray loved the place. A hand ripped him behind a hedge he passed. The needle stung only slightly before he lost consciousness.

  Blinking eyes, head spinning, Ray drifted reluctantly into bleary dark reality. He noted in horror the straps anchoring his naked body to a gurney with weird music and torturous black-lighted scenes above him. Three costumed people in dark masks and a particularly gruesome clown face approached him.

  “Where…where am I?”

  “In hell,” the leader of the group stated in a deep altered voice, dripping with menace. “We know of all your dealings, Ray. We’ve brought you here to collect dues for your transgressions against America.”

  “This…this is silly. Surely you people know who I am. I run a legitimate firm in DC. What the fuck do you want?!”

  “Restitution,” the clown figure said. “I am Payaso. This is El Muerto and El Kabong. Perhaps you’ve heard of us.”

  “Oh shit! The Unholy Trio! You…you only target terrorists and serial killers. I’m neither. What the hell am I doing here?”

  A black robed female strode into view. “I am the Avenging Angel of El Muerto’s Unholy Trio.”

  She fired off an arc from a very powerful stun-gun. “We need to prepare you for what lies ahead if you are uncooperative. This is going to hurt, Ray.”

  Worthum screamed as a pain stabbed through every fiber of his being until he passed out. He awoke again into nightmare, a hand slapping his face lightly. The man indicated as El Muerto waved at him. “Please…please don’t torture me. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. We know you have Congresswoman Gree on the hook along with many others. You take money from the Al-Kazar family in Saudi Arabia. You represent Isis and Muslim Brotherhood interests. We want all the details, especially where the Al-Kazar heads reside. Make this difficult and we’ll teach you pain you never thought existed.”

  Ray nodded energetically. “Sure… we can deal with all of that… I can help you. Let me go. I’ll-”

  The stun-gun blazed pain into Ray’s brain until he thought his head would explode. His awakening once again brought tears and sobs for mercy.

  “Cut the cry-baby crap,” El Muerto directed. “We don’t deal. We want answers to our questions. You might live an altered existence in the future, depending on what we learn from you now. First question – where do you contact the Al-Kazar representatives. Be very careful about how you answer.”

  “Uh…uh, I have a remote contact in the family who-”

  “He’s lying,” the woman known as the Avenging Angel stated. She lowered the arc to his balls once again against his screaming protests.

  He awoke shouting answers to questions not yet asked. “They have an estate in Qatar! I…I know the address and…and times of the year they are there. When they are in Saudi Arabia, you could never reach them. They are in Qatar now!”

  “He speaks the truth,” Avenging Angel stated.

  “Good. I think we’re all on the same page now, Ray. We all want to help the United States of America from now on. Isn’t that true, Ray?”

  “Yes! As God is my witness! Tell me what I have to do! Anything…anything!”

  “Tell us everything, Ray,” Muerto told him. “Avenging Angel is a human lie detector. When you lie or leave something out, she will adjust you immediately. You will be contacted at a special drop on the ‘Dark Web’. We want all your incoming communications from the other traitors inside and outside Congress, especially Leila Rackson-Gree. We know the two of you are thick as thieves. If I ever need bring you back here, Ray… we will make you last for days before we cut off your treasonous head.”

  “I’ll tell! I won’t lie! Yes… anything I get from now on, I will forward to you.” Ray sobbed. “I will change… I will!”

  “We’ll see,” Avenging Angel said, patting Ray’s cheek. Her piercing eyes stared into his without blinking. “Begin… my little helper.”

  * * *

  “What do we do with this guy, Muerto?”

  Nick grasped Johnny’s shoulders. “Cala did excellently, brother. She has studied Dr. Deville very well. I’m going to return him to his life. We’ll monitor him. After what I’ve heard, I will put a bullet in his head the moment he goes backward. I confess he pissed me off to the point I wanted to do a cleansing on him. I have Paul’s backing in what we’ve done. Ray is on our list, but we’re going to let this play out. For one thing, we’ll be hacked into every move he makes.”

  “What about Gree?”

  “We gather intel, Gus. I’m hoping we can trap her, using Ray. Picking off the Congressional herd will eventually get very dangerous. We’ll follow through on her committee works in HS and DOJ. I must get Ray back on the military plane to DC. I need for him to awaken at his place which I’ve already broken into and bugged. Clyde’s awaiting me in the military transport.”

  “Why did you bring him to my place, Muerto?”

  “I wasn’t sure I would give him back his life, Johnny. In for a penny, in for a pound now – if we can take Rackson-Gree out of the traitor ranks, it will make this entire episode worth it,” Nick replied.

  “No offense, brother… but why are you doing this? You never used to question shit or do anything about the traitorous dealings in DC. Why now,” Gus asked. “Your cold-blooded assassin personality is beginning to disappear in the wake of all this doing good for America stuff.”

  Nick paused for a moment, looking down at the table they sat at in Johnny’s Carmel Valley home. “I always wanted to do what’s right. Sometimes, like I explained to Rachel and Jean, I didn’t know what right was. My years with Frank Richert numbed my sense of right and wrong. I’m no angel of mercy by a long shot. I do know America deserves better than coin operated politicos. They sell her out for play for pay foreign enemies, dedicated to the destruction of our way of life.”

  “You’re kind of patriotic corny for a psychopath, Muerto,” Gus kidded him.

  Nick shrugged. “Guilty.”

  * * *

/>   “It’s damn good to see you, Nick!”

  Nick shook CIA Director Paul Gilbrech’s hand with firm appreciation of the bond between them. “I want you around for a good long time, Boss. I never knew how this would work out between us, but it’s damn good so far. We’re going with the flow in this joint endeavor, brother. You’ve been there for us all the way. The CIA military protocol flights definitely work in our favor if we have to return someone to everyday life.”

  Nick sat at Gilbrech’s desk, accepting a whiskey. The two men toasted to better times.

  “I admit… it was a hard decision returning Ray to his home. He is a traitor. After reading all his files, I want to put a bullet in his head right now!”

  “We’re on the same page, Director… but… that’s what you have me for. We have everything he sees, or does, under digital surveillance protocol. If he moves against America again, he will be tagged for immediate disappearance.” Nick sat down in the seat indicated by Gilbrech. “Clyde did excellent as usual on this venture. I noted he’s been in contact with Clint Dostiene’s assistant, Danielle. That’s kind of neat.”

  “Don’t play matchmaker games, Muerto. It won’t go well for anyone.”

  “That’s just mean, Director.”

  Paul chuckled. He remained quiet for a moment. Nick waited, sensing something more in the dark needing to be addressed. “I have a personal gig, Nick. It’s the reason I asked for this meet in person. I am half a step or word away from doing something stupid. My wife’s daughter, Amelia, lives in Chicago. She-”

  “Ah… I hate to interrupt, Paul, but nothing short of a full-scale invasion will save your wife’s daughter’s family in Chicago, my friend. I can give you a fortune to relocate her, but that’s the best I can do. Chicago suffered over 700 murders last year and over 3,500 wounded, pal. I don’t talk about Chicago. I don’t talk about Dearbornistan in Michigan because I don’t need the aggravation. Relocate her, Paul.”

  “You’ve given me a fortune already, damn it! I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. She won’t give up her life there. Amelia’s one of those, I won’t run liberals, who demand everyone around protect them, but they won’t even take steps to protect themselves. They live in an alternate reality where if they don’t believe in guns, then gun violence doesn’t exist, and their own children won’t get gunned down on the streets.”

  Nick sipped his whiskey, watching the harried eyes of a man he respected and trusted, in a place of power where he could do nearly anything except control a liberal family member. “I won’t insult your intelligence with wispy remarks meaning nothing. You and I share a psychopathic tendency towards death when threatened. I will need to go to the Sand soon and erase the Al-Kazar spawn until I can keep them from buying trouble for John Harding’s crew and mine. If I go into hell on earth in Chicago, I will rack up a body-count that will be like a crime spree of insanity even there. I will do so for you if I can get a fully operative intelligence and situational network in Qatar when I go after Al-Kazar’s spawn in hiding.”

  “You haven’t heard why my wife’s daughter and family need a savior yet, Muerto.”

  “That’s because I’ve perceived the answer to a question I will ask, but I’m loathe to hear an answer for. What does Amelia do for a living?”

  “She’s a social worker.”

  “Bingo!” Nick buried his head in hands on the desk. “Call the famous community organizer. You’re a black brother in a position of power. He’ll make deals and organize everything around Amelia so she’ll be safe.”

  Paul nearly spurted the sip of whiskey through his nose, while leaping to his feet, pointing at Nick. “That bastard ain’t no brother of… you prick!”

  Nick couldn’t hold it in. Paul waited with some anger as Nick enjoyed his advisory notion for Paul. Nick made placating gestures while Paul sat down with a growl. “Sor…sorry.”

  “Liar! That was mean, Muerto. You do know it’s racist to lump me in with that idiot Islamic sycophant enabler just because I’m considered the same skin color, right?”

  “I’m so ashamed.”

  “Liar! Okay… you got your dig in. What are we talkin’ about for you to do this. I’m in for any deal. Will what you’re thinking about in that Muerto mind of yours work, and will I be getting direct fallout from it?”

  “I only know one way to pull this off and my family ain’t going to like it.”

  “The hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight up, brother.”

  “Best get them to salute too,” Nick replied. “I’ll need three weeks to a month. In that time period, I’ll need you to have me on the books in DC on special projects inside the CIA, researching a future project. I’ll rent a condo now while I’m here, and establish a relationship with the condo ownership. It must be where government attaches normally stay but their presence isn’t followed or heeded to.”

  “The Avenue apartments at Foggy Bottom.” Paul wrote an address and phone number down for Nick. “No one there gives a crap who comes and goes. It’s political wonk heaven there. They spy on each other constantly in this town anyway. I also know a place in Chicago, I can give you an identity for, catering to long or short term assignments for a price – The Grand Plaza on North State Street.”

  “Good input. Now, I’ll have to sell it to my family and Unholy Trio.” Nick stood. “Thanks for the drink. I have a civilian Las Vegas identity for the Chicago gig. Send me everything on your extended family. I-”

  The CIA Director handed Nick an encased chip. “Everything… and I mean everything is on that chip, including a list of the assholes threatening my family. Is this even possible, Nick? I know how goofy it is. I’m afraid they’ll be dead before I can talk them out of that hellhole.”

  “I know both those places. One Mission Impossible at a time. First we save the family. I’ll use my Roscoe Weatherby identity. It’s established with a domicile in Las Vegas and credit. You do understand what this adjustment will entail, right? You didn’t answer me when I asked before. I want it clear between us now. Because you handed me this chip, it means you have targets in mind. I can’t be interacting with them. I will have to kill them in a street type manner, one by one, until I end the threat. By the time I get finished, everyone in the Midwest will be hunting me. It’s a damn dangerous experiment, Paul. Will you be ready to get your family out of there if things don’t work out?”

  “You do what you do. I doubt I can get my wife to approve of kidnapping her daughter, granddaughter, and son-in-law, so I may have to grovel in front of the community organizer to make things right if you fail.”

  “Don’t lose hope.”

  “Oh… you dirty… no good-”

  “Stand for change. Yes we can! It’s change we can believe in!” Nick spouted the slogans all the way through the door and down the hall, pointing his finger at the ceiling in rhythm, with Paul Gilbrech cussing him out and laughing. “It’s a new beginning! Organize for change! It’s about time, it’s about change! Change can’t happen without you!”

  Paul stood at the door, pumping his fist. “I’ll get you for this, Nick. Thank you!”

  Nick ended his chants and saluted before going on the elevator.

  * * *

  “I’m scared, Mommy,” Deirdre whispered.

  Amelia peeked around the corner of the building she’d hurried her daughter behind. The small grocery store only a block from their apartment always cheered the two of them when shopping for some forgotten items. Chicago cold and snow kept the bad element, haunting the city’s mean streets day and night, indoors. With her husband Scott working nights, Amelia and Deirdre rarely felt safe enough to walk even the short distance to the store. They shared a hot pretzel and mustard while buying eggs and a loaf of bread. Six heavily dressed gangbangers in arctic gear made catcalls at her while harassing the Chinese store owner. When Amelia hurried her daughter to the sidewalk and down the way, the gangbangers followed. The girls kept pace because the gangbangers wore the droopy pants uniform of
the day in spite of the freezing temperature. As Amelia felt they could make it, three more dark figures calling out to their cohorts down the street blocked their path.

  “Hold the bitches!”

  “We got this,” came the answer and gesture of understanding. The one in the front waved at her. “Hello… girls.”

  Amelia grabbed Deirdre’s hand, dragging her between the buildings, down a street she knew would loop around to their apartment building. She stopped, hoping she wasn’t followed. To her regret, their stalkers were much closer. The three men trudged through the snow and ice after her with the other six at the street entrance. Amelia could tell she and Deirdre would never be able to get around to their apartment building. A figure dressed all in black leather with black silk mask rounded the corner from behind them.

  “Stay there, ladies,” an altered voice sounding much like Darth Vader told them.

  Horror gripped Amelia as the black adorned man fired short bursts into each man at the front. The automatic weapons fire, muted by a silencer, dropped the three in front instantly. The six others only ten yards behind the front three, dropped without a sound as they could not turn and run in the sleeted pavement fast enough. The executioner walked back towards Amelia, indicating calm, with palms out and weapon slung again at his back.

  “It would probably be best if you and Deirdre walked around the block to your apartment,” the man told her.

  “We…we can’t just leave them like that! I’ll call an ambulance.” Amelia shifted her bags around, looking for her phone.

  “Did you just insult me, Amelia?” The man waved at Deirdre. She waved back.

  Realizing the man meant all nine of her stalkers were dead, she stopped looking for her phone. “How do you know our names?”

  “I’ve seen those punks harassing you every time you leave your apartment.”

  “So, you just kill them? Really?” Amelia hugged her daughter to her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”