Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Peter Mitchelli’s mind began to race as he stared at the pictures of the officers with their families. Although Freed had patronized him with his answer, he knew this was a rare and adventurous opportunity. The adventure intrigued him. He loved a challenge. Although farfetched, if he accepted he would have to prove the Secretary of Homeland Security was right. He would be an asset to the investigation. He was not going to be a figurehead, a token civilian operative; that would be impossible for him.

  All the information was swirling around in his head. He kept hearing Ann telling him that he is living too aggressively and needed to slow down. He was adding too much stress in his personal life, in addition to the stress from his business. He would be spending even less time with his children and he did not want them to suffer. The pressure in his forehead began spreading like poison to the top and rear of his head. His eyes winced from the pain and his mouth was parched. A migraine had erupted quickly. He looked down for a moment, staring at the top of the table, and then he looked up at MacJames. She saw it: his face spoke for him; she read it like a book. His big brown eyes appeared much smaller covered by his sagging eyelids. He was overloaded with the information he was just given. His large shoulders dropped ever so slightly, but MacJames took notice. Their eyes locked. She closely studied his every movement, as well as his facial features. She had an urge to touch Mitchelli’s hand, attempting to ease his tension, but she decided against it. She was the consummate professional. Do I have any type of morals, what have I done?

  Freed opened his mouth to speak and MacJames stopped him immediately. In a calm voice she said, “Peter, if you want to take time to think this over, we certainly understand.” She gave Mitchelli her card with her cell number and asked that all communication moving forward would be done via cell phone.

  “Thank you for your understanding.” Freed noticed the change in Mitchelli’s tone and realized MacJames was correct when she interrupted him. Mitchelli needed time to think things over.

  Mitchelli’s mind continued to boil as he walked from the FBI building to his car. He knew a migraine headache was brewing. Images of shadows gunshots and bodies lying in pools of blood filled his mind. Concerned his Mind Kill would consume him, his pace quickens as he walked to his truck. His legs tingled, his feet numb; he could barely feel the ground. He quickly climbed behind the steering wheel wondering if he could even drive home, his mind racing. He debated whether to call Ann to talk things over, but then he remembered he no longer has her to lean on; oh, how he missed her. He knew he needed to drive home before it became impossible for him to keep his eyes open, for that matter, hold his head up. He rushed home from the city. On the way, he called his mother-in-law to tell her he is not feeling well. He asked if she could stay with the kids while he rested. She was well aware of her son-in-law’s condition and immediately agreed. Mitchelli hugged his children when he arrived home. He took four aspirin and slept for an hour. When he woke, his headache was gone. The kids had just finished dinner and he sat down with them for desert. His mother-in-law noticed he looked much better, and asked if he needed her to spend the night. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her he was ok.

  Peter spent the early evening reading with Kaitlin and helping Peter Jakob with his homework. He watched two of Kaitlin’s favorite TV shows and then put his children to bed. He lied in bed, contemplating how absurd the day had been and who in the world would believe this story. He remembered the pictures of the agent’s families; their wives reminded him of Ann. How he missed Ann and the sorrow her passing has brought him. They must miss their spouses. He thought of how tortured they must be, not knowing if their husbands were dead or being held captive somewhere. As he thought of his own children and how his decision would affect them, he felt sick over the thought of the agents’ kids and the prospect of not seeing their fathers again. His hands began to tremble, the pressure builds in his head.

  He spoke quietly aloud to himself, asking Ann what he should do. He wished she was with him to bring some sense to this crazy day. Scattered thoughts thundered across his mind: knives, guns, torture, pain, and death. Newspaper articles describing gruesome murders, Ann’s expressions of fear and disappointment. He had to take his mind from its past. Quickly he grabbed his rosary, remembering how he prayed with Ann at the hospital running the beads through her delicate fingers. He recited the Our Father and started the Hail Mary, “Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with thee…..” He stopped. He remembered praying as a child, asking God for bravery. Had God answered his prayers? Freed had just by chance showed up at the range the evening he was running the qualifications. Was God testing him, answering his prayers? Could this decision make right his past? Was this decision an action of bravery or irresponsibility? What would his father say? He knew his mother would say no, but his father believed in serving his community and country.

  He said to himself, “What is the big deal, anyways? What if the case is solved in two weeks?” He would return from Baltimore and be dismissed. He would have a great story to tell his grandchildren one day. Was it a risk? As an auxiliary Sheriff, he could be killed by a car directing traffic for a parade. He remembered guarding mailrooms at charity telethons that contained envelopes contaminated with anthrax. His Mind Kill would not let him forget his past confrontations with death. The memories flowed in his mind, but they are calm; as opposed to the rush of thoughts that scrambled his brain as he left the meeting with the FBI earlier in the afternoon. Ann, helping to save these men could correct my past. He needed to sleep; he would have an answer in the morning. He walked down the hallway to Kaitlin’s and Peter Jakob’s rooms and kissed them on the foreheads as they slept. He sat down at his bar, poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels, and contemplated his response for the next morning. He must drink the shadows of death out of his mind, as his prayers could not.

  CHAPTER 7

  Peter Mitchelli was a construction manager, real estate broker, and a developer; he managed twenty million dollars of contracts and proposals himself a year. Although yesterday was quite fantastical, he did not like the proposal he had received. It was a stretch for him to believe that the Department of Homeland Security had sought him out to assist in solving a crime. Nevertheless he believed it was his duty to serve his country, but on his terms. Like any good businessman he was going to counter the government’s proposal. If Freed and MacJames believe I have the skills they need, I’m going to get paid more money. Mitchelli had no idea what he should get paid. They must be desperate to hire me so Stuart will get off their back? I’ll counter with a ridiculous offer, I’ll agree to half, except for the immunity--I can use that!

  Mitchelli called MacJames at seven in the morning; it was the only time he had free before getting his children to their soccer games. She was pleased to hear from him.

  He got right to business. “I am considering working for the department, but only if the following stipulations are added to yesterday’s terms.” MacJames listened intently as he highlighted his counteroffer. The compensation would be for his children: $80,000 per year for four years, regardless of the termination of his services. The money would be divided equally and placed in a tax-free trust fund for each child. The Department of Homeland Security would also reimburse him in full for childcare services needed during this time. In addition, the government would pay Mitchelli Construction $150,000 a year for his service as a consultant. He went on to request the Department of Homeland Security provide a six million dollar life insurance and disability policy in a trust for his children. Finally, he demanded the United States Federal government to indemnify, hold harmless, and grant full and complete immunity to him for all liabilities, crimes associated with, not withstanding, otherwise while in service or out of service to his country during, prior, and after his participation in this investigation. In other words, complete lifetime immunity.

  “I appreciate the opportunity you have offered me. The situation is quite unique. If these additional terms are accepted, I will be
in Washington Monday morning to sign the required paperwork and begin training.” He ended by stating he would appreciate an answer that evening in order to rearrange his schedule for the next week. MacJames said very little. She had no idea if Stuart would accept Mitchelli’s ridiculous counter, but she was not looking forward to the prospect of searching for another candidate if Mitchelli fell through. She was surprised at Mitchelli’s tone; it was much more confident than when she saw him last.

  After the call, MacJames did not review the terms with Freed; he had no say in the matter. She sent the terms via secured e-mail to Secretary Stuart’s assistant, with her comment that these were nonnegotiable. The Secretary was annoyed, but impressed. The terms appeared to be unselfish; Mitchelli thought of everyone else in his family and before himself. They were logical, fair business requests made by a no nonsense man. MacJames and Freed had accomplished his orders; he had to accept the terms of his field operative. Stuart contacted his advisors and they cited cases where the government had spent many times more for independent agents. His advisors would work out the details and have them prepared for Mitchelli’s signature Monday afternoon. Stuart’s aide called MacJames and told her the Secretary had given the green light: Mitchelli was a go.

  ***

  MacJames called Mitchelli at three thirty in the afternoon; he was with his children, washing his boat Time Bandit, and planning to spend the night aboard.

  “Mitchelli.”

  “Angela MacJames, your terms have been accepted.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “When it pertains to my investigations I don’t kid.”

  “I expected a counter.”

  “So did I.”

  “Bothers me Stuart didn’t counter.”

  “Get over it, you’re required to be at Niagara Falls Air Force Base Monday morning at 6 a.m. for departure to Washington. The guard at the entrance will give you directions as you check in.” She was as curt as he was with his demands; she did not like her role as a go between, especially between two men.

  Caught by surprise, Mitchelli replied, “I will be there.”

  With that brief exchange, Peter Mitchelli’s deadly adventure had begun. Mitchelli spent the next two hours rearranging his schedule through text messages, e-mails, and phone calls. He called his family and told them he would be taking a sudden vacation next week. They were relieved, as he had not taken any time off since Ann’s death. He had accumulated eight weeks of vacation. His sister Beth badgered him a bit, insisting he manage his workload while he was away. His mother-in-law agreed to care for the children. Aboard his boat, he settled in for a cozy night of watching movies with his children. He couldn’t begin to fathom just how much his life was about to change.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mitchelli walked beside MacJames on the tarmac at Niagara Falls Air Force Base. He stopped in disbelief as he watched Freed board a C-5 Galaxy cargo plane.

  MacJames turned to look back at Mitchelli. “Are you coming? What’s wrong?” She walked back to Mitchelli, “What, are you afraid to fly? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

  “No…Well, I don’t like to fly but I don’t get airsick.” Mitchelli eyes studied the plane. The fuselage is almost as long as a football field. “Is anyone else flying with us?”

  “No one but us and the crew, why? Did you expect someone? Are you sure you’re not going to get sick?”

  “No, I’m not going to get sick. I just feel a little uncomfortable flying.” Mitchelli was annoyed. “Is the plane carrying any cargo to Washington? Tanks, trucks, armored vehicles?” Mitchelli took his eyes off the plane to look at MacJames.

  “Absolutely not. Why do you ask?”

  “I knew it; Son of a bitch, I just knew it, I’m so stupid! You’re one hell of a negotiator Mitchelli, I’m a moron.” Mitchelli resumed walking to the plane.

  MacJames ran to catch up with him. “You knew what? You’re not thinking about backing out are you?” She grabbed his arm, attempting to stop him. He turned quickly and they bumped into each other. The collision was awkward. “Listen Peter, when I ask a question, I expect an answer. Don’t ignore me.”

  Mitchelli looked MacJames in the eye, “I’m sorry ma’am. I just feel stupid right know.” His tone was stern.

  “Don’t call me ma’am. Why?”

  “Let say I’m a touch over three hundred pounds, I figure you and Freed combined are equal to my weight and we’re flying to Washington in one of the Air Force’s heavy lift cargo planes. Its payload capacity is two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

  “It is?”

  “It holds fifty thousand gallons of fuel; that’s equal to six in-ground pools. It can carry five Bradley armored vehicles.”

  “I didn’t know that. That’s quite impressive. What other trivia do you know?”

  Mitchelli’s eyes winced as he gritted his teeth, “You say impressive, but doesn’t it seem just a tad wasteful to you that this behemoth plane is just caring the three of us to Washington?”

  “Get over it, the Secretary doesn’t want you flying on a commercial flight. This flight is logged as a training flight. The crew is required to fly so many hours a month to stay proficient. It was assigned to us by HLS command. We didn’t question their decision. You work for the government now and you have to learn some decisions are out of your control… Are you mad at me for some reason?”

  “No ma’am, I just feel stupid.”

  “Stop calling me ma’am. Why do you feel stupid?”

  “I should have asked for a hell of a lot more money. Our flight to Washington and back is probably double what I’m being paid.” Mitchelli pulled the garment bag from her hand. “I’ll carry your bag for you, ma’am.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She grabbed Mitchelli’s arm as he walks away, he turned abruptly and they bumped into each other again. “It’s embarrassing. I’m your boss, you don’t have to carry my bag, and damn it, stop calling me ma’am, please!”

  “My boss? Hmm, ok, understood.”

  MacJames held Mitchelli’s arm to keep him from walking away. “Peter, please understand that Secretary Stuart considers your training high priority. Your involvement is going to be awkward for all of us at first. I’ve worked for the FBI for over twenty years and have never worked with a civilian, let alone one that’s going to be an undercover operative. We’re accustomed to doing things a certain way.”

  “I can see that.” Mitchelli looks back at the plane, “Ok, I’ll relax and try not to be so judgmental. May I board the plane, Mrs. MacJames?”

  “No! I mean you can board, but I’m not married, please call me Angela.” She studied his face. “Why are you sweating?”

  “I haven’t been on an airplane in three years; I get anxious when I fly. God I hate to fly! I think I am going to get sick.”

  “Get over it.”

  “What!”

  “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

  “NO MA’AM!”

  ***

  MacJames informed Mitchelli in flight his government papers would be ready for signature at noon. They reviewed his agenda for the week. Freed is surprised when MacJames informed both of them they were having dinner with Secretary Stuart. Freed had never been asked to dinner with the Secretary, or for that matter with any high-ranking member of the Washington establishment. The discussion on the plane is brief due to the noise generated by the engines; they were on a military cargo plane not a commercial airliner.

  Freed had thrown together a rushed curriculum for Mitchelli. Courses would include two days of plain-clothes surveillance, two days of espionage procedures taught by the CIA, and one day of physical combat. The first day was uneventful; it mostly involved watching instructional videos with condensed lectures. Mitchelli loved to learn, and although informative, his classes were lack luster.

  Secretary Stuart had invited Mitchelli, Freed, and MacJames to dinner at Anthony’s which overlooked the Potomac River. Stuart wanted to break the ice with his new emplo
yee and anticipated the Italian contractor would feel comfortable at an Italian restaurant, at least he would know what to order. Stuart had mingled with many influential people in Washington as well as Hollywood celebrities. Surprisingly he was excited he had recruited an Italian contractor as an operative. He loved the idea of an Italian contractor from Buffalo working as his field agent. Stuart let his imagination run just a little amuck. For the first time since his appointment as Secretary of HLS, he felt like he was implementing something new. He mumbled to himself, “I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  Freed showed up for the dinner wearing a black suit and tie. He made everyone uncomfortable by annoyingly tugging at his tie all night. Mitchelli asked him several times if he would loosen his tie, but Freed ignores his requests. MacJames arrived wearing a dark blue conservative business suit, while Stuart donned a blue pinstriped suit and a red tie with blue stripes. Mitchelli was wearing a black silk sport coat, an opened collar white silk shirt with a subtle vertical pattern, white khaki pants, no socks, and Armani loafers. Unknowingly Mitchelli had outclassed his companions with his casual style. He looked and acted quite relaxed.