Unexpected Gaines

by S L Shelton

  Gaines spoke as he worked on the man. “The women you beat, raped, and killed last night had a family,” he relayed coolly as he slipped the knife through Roy’s belt and pants. “The baby you burned to death had parents who loved her,” he continued as he roughly jerked Roy’s ball sack and shriveled penis backward and up. The odor of urine wafted up to Gaines’s nostrils from where the man had wet himself.

  “All of them had family—mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers—who loved them, cared about them, and had no expectation that they would be violated and ripped from their lives.” He wrapped the wire tightly around the base of the man’s member. “And all of them were better than you,” he growled just before he sliced through the flesh.

  Roy’s scream lingered a long while after the cut, and he didn’t fall into unconsciousness. He lingered on the edge of it, whimpering and crying for several minutes. “Just kill me, man,” he cried over and over, slobbering on himself.

  “I’ve got questions first,” Gaines stated calmly. He picked up the pail of water he had prepared and tossed half on the two unconscious men. They jerked awake and immediately started wailing.

  “Quiet!” Gaines yelled, punching the closest one in the face, sending them all into subdued whimpers.

  “The first thing I want to ask…” He paused as he walked slowly in front of the sobbing group. “You!” he barked, pointing at the youngest man in the center. “How did you come to know about these women and their family?”

  “It was Roy!” the young man squealed, just as he had done earlier. “His wife and these people from some church she belongs to. They have these political meetings at their house. They were always talking about the ‘lezzie whores’ and that science experiment baby of theirs.”

  “Really?” Gaines asked, sounding fascinated. “What do they do at these meetings?”

  “Nooo,” Roy sobbed. “Don’t tell him nothin’.”

  Gaines punched Roy hard in the face, shutting him up, and then refocused his attention on Billy. “As you were saying…”

  “They just listen to that Buck guy and talk about all the things they’d do if they could get away with it,” Billy whined.

  “Buck?” Gaines asked.

  “Yeah. Buck Grimwall. The radio guy,” Billy sobbed. “Please let me go. I didn’t do nothin’ to those girls. Roy made me come along.”

  “You begged him to let you come,” the first guy yelled, sobbing in anger and fear before straining his neck up to look at Gaines. “You ruined us for life. Ain’t that enough? Let us go. We won’t tell no one.”

  Gaines ignored the plea, turning his focus back to Billy. “Whose idea was it to go after those girls?”

  “It was Roy and his wife,” he said, slobbering on himself. “Some German fella was there. Georgia—Roy’s old lady—said we had a cover. That heavy hitters would have our backs.”

  Gaines’s eyes went wide. “Older gentleman?”

  “Yeah,” Billy whimpered.

  “What was this ‘German fella’s’ name?” Gaines asked.

  “I don’t know,” Billy replied, crying again. “I ain’t never met him.”

  “I see,” Gaines muttered, satisfied with his answers. “Billy, you’ve been very helpful. I want to thank you for your cooperation.”

  “So you’re gonna let me go?” Billy cried hopefully.

  “No. I’m sorry, but that’s not possible,” Gaines said apologetically. “But I will spare you your friends’ fate.” He pulled his knife out and slipped it under Billy’s chin.

  “No! You said you’d spare me their fate,” he screamed out.

  “Believe me, Billy. This is merciful compassion compared to what awaits them.” With that, he drew the short, razor-sharp blade across Billy’s throat, opening both arteries. Billy struggled for a short while, a gurgling rasp coming from his throat, and then he went limp.

  The other two began to struggle again. Gaines calmly picked up the gas can he had located earlier and began pouring it out on the three men. Roy and the other man began tugging at their bonds again, though more weakly than they had earlier. Once the can was empty, he squatted down in front of the men. He looked Roy in the eye.

  “What was the German’s name?” Gaines asked him.

  Roy turned his head to the side. Gaines grabbed the prostrate man by his hair and held his head up.

  “Billy got off easy,” Gaines said. “Do you want me to show you the hard way?” He brought his knife up to Roy’s cheek, the tip pressing at the skin just below his eye.

  “Heinrich,” Roy whispered through his anger.

  “Last name?” Gaines pressed.

  “I don't have it,” he said.

  “Two more questions,” Gaines said. “How did you meet Heinrich?”

  “I don’t know. He just showed up after one of those meetings Georgia always has,” Roy replied.

  “So Georgia was the brains behind this, then?” Gaines asked, accusingly.

  Fear raced across Roy’s face. He realized he may have just signed his wife’s death warrant.

  Gaines smiled and rose, not needing an answer.

  “Contact information for Heinrich,” Gaines said, knowing he probably didn’t have it to give.

  “I ain’t got none,” Roy cried out. “He came to us.”

  “That’s a real pity,” Gaines claimed in mock regret. “That’s the one thing that might have saved you.” A lie.

  “Wait. I can find him for you,” Roy pleaded. “Give me a chance. I know I can find him.”

  “Tell me how you'd find him, and I might,” Mark offered sympathetically.

  Roy's eyes darted back and forth rapidly, obviously trying to figure out a suitable answer before it was too late. It was clear he had no more information.

  “That's okay. I have another important job for you fellas,” he confided, looking them in the eye, one and then the other. Then he pulled a box of matches from his pocket and shook it.

  “Anything, man. We’ll do anything you want,” the younger of the two cried out.

  “Oh. You don’t have to do anything,” he chided as he lit a match and held it in front of them. “I need you to be a shining example.” He tossed the match onto Billy’s back, sending flames spreading across his body, down to the floor, and then onto the other two.

  As they twisted, screaming under the flames consuming their skin, Gaines withdrew one of his Desert Eagle automatics and waited. When the flames reached the ceiling of the garage, he fired a round into the top of one man’s head and then the other before walking out.

  On the way to his vehicle, he opened the phone belonging to Roy and dialed 911.

  When the dispatcher answered he replied “Hello. My name is Roy Mullen. Me and my friends raped and murdered those two women and their baby last night. We are very bad people and are now paying for our crime.” Then he tossed the phone on the ground outside the garage without ending the call.

  He got in his car and drove away feeling unsatisfied. He had a lot more work to do.

  **

  1:45 a.m.—Hampton Inn and Suites in Colorado Springs

  We checked into the Hampton Inn and Suites near the Air Force Academy. I felt I could breathe again after removing the tie. The dangerous article of clothing sat at the foot of the bed where I could keep an eye on it.

  I could hear John in the other room talking on the phone. I lay down on one of the beds and listened in to his side of the conversation.

  “Yeah. It’s definitely him,” John said. “Monkey Wrench pulled ATM footage and cleaned it up.”

  “Between 18:00 and 19:00 hours, local time. A convenience store.”

  “No. He deleted it from the server at CSPD but the FBI might still have a copy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’ll need a SATINT Package for three hours prior to present.”

  “Hopefully we can intercept him before he does anything stupid.”

  “How’s the recovery Op going?”

  “Really? Have they been ab
le to get verification yet?”

  “Keep me posted. Hopefully, we’ll have this wrapped up in a day or two and I’ll be able to get back there to help.”

  “Yes, sir. Bye.”

  John came back into the bedroom area. Stress on his face.

  “Try and get a little shuteye,” he said as he grabbed his suit jacket. “I’ve got to run over to the Air Force Academy and pick up a package.”

  “I can come,” I offered, rising from the bed.

  “Nope,” he replied, holding out his hand. “You don’t have clearance for where I’m going, and it’s just a pick up. Get some sleep. I need that brain of yours fresh and alert.”

  I plopped back down. “Okay.”

  “See you in a couple of hours,” he said as he exited the room.

  “Hey, John?” I called as he opened the door. “What ‘recovery Op?’”

  He closed the door and moved closer so he could speak in a lower voice.

  “I can’t really talk about it.”

  But he wanted to…I could tell. “Sounds important,” I said.

  “Just some clean up from a recent incident,” he replied.

  I saw the trace of a smirk flit, just for a split second, across his face.

  It was more than I needed to figure out he felt he was hiding something from me that was right under my nose.

  Recent and under my nose? I thought. Mimon!

  1. Recovery Op

  2. Recent Incident

  3. Mimon

  The nukes! They are hunting the missing nukes and have a strong lead that needs to be verified. John was working on the project and got sidelined by this man hunt. Got it. Thanks, John!

  “Okay,” I replied. “I understand… National security and all.”

  “Maybe another time,” he said as he turned and left.

  I sat there for a few minutes, trying not to let my mind start working on nuclear devices—but it was just so damn interesting.

  I managed to doze off without even slipping under the covers or turning off the lights.

  I had a stressful dream where I was searching my condo for something important. I was pulling items out of my closet, tossing them on the floor, looking under my bed, crawling on my belly—searching for something important that I had misplaced.

  When I was done in the bedroom, I moved to the kitchen. There I began pulling things out of the cabinets, pots and pans crashing to the floor with a loud clatter. Next were the closets in the hallway and the foyer. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I’d know it when I saw it, and it was very important that I found it.

  I racked my memory trying to recall what exactly I was looking for. I got the distinct impression it was yellow—no…wait…Blonde!

  **

  I awoke as John entered the room.

  “Up,” he said. “I got a call from Detective Lee while I was out. There’s been a development.”

  I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked at the clock. It was just after 3:45 a.m.

  “Did they get their CODIS match?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. There was a 911 call about two hours ago,” he said, slinging his bag on the bed and stuffing a package into it. “Someone claimed to be the killer and left an open line for the locals to trace.”

  I looked at him, dumbfounded. “Why would they do that?”

  “They didn’t,” he said, throwing me my suit jacket. “When CSPD got there, they found three men tied to wooden pallets, burned alive with their manhood cut away… They were tortured.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I muttered as I slipped my shoulder holster and coat on. “He found them.”

  “Looks that way,” he replied, opening the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “The crime scene,” he said plainly. “Where else?”

  I paused for a second, thinking.

  “Is Mark good at what he does?” I asked as the impatience built up in his face.

  “The best,” John replied abruptly.

  “How much evidence do you think he would have left at the crime scene?”

  John cocked his head to the side, a confused look on his face, replaced quickly with realization.

  “What do you suggest?” he asked, coming back into the room and closing the door.

  “He’s already got a two-hour head start on us,” I replied. “How about I spool up your satellite imagery and see which way he headed?”

  He thought about it for all of two seconds before putting his bag back on the bed. He unzipped the side pouch, retrieving his package.

  “That’s up to about twenty minutes ago,” John said, tossing me a pocket drive.

  I plopped down in front of my computer at the table and booted up. I plugged in my password, slipped my finger onto the fingerprint reader, and waited for my desktop to show up while I drank the coffee John had placed in front of me. Bad coffee.

  “Why do you salt the coffee?” I asked, grimacing.

  “It’s just like mom used to make,” he joked, smiling, and then confessed. “It’s a Navy thing.”

  “How long were you in the Navy?” I asked.

  “Seventeen years,” he replied.

  “Three years from retirement and you just decided you wanted to be a spy?” I asked.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” he said. “When I came out of the field, I ended up working for Naval Intelligence. Then I became a liaison under Clinton. Got my rank and thought I’d get a command of my own once I played the DC two-step for a while.”

  “Huh,” I grunted. “Didn’t work the way you planned?”

  He looked up, realizing I was interrogating him. He gave me a long, measuring stare and then nodded.

  “Yeah. The well can get poisoned without warning in Washington,” he said. “I spoke my mind a couple of times on some strategic planning… It bit me on the ass.”

  “Spoke your mind and were wrong?” I asked.

  “Worse,” he said. “I told them what was going to happen and they didn’t listen. The only thing worse than being wrong in Washington is being right after they screw up… I was blackballed.”

  “That’s when the CIA picked you up?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I was no stranger to the Agency, and Burgess likes people who speak their mind. He'd never punish a subordinate for an informed opinion…whether he acted on it or not.”

  “Sounds like a great guy to work for,” I commented casually, knowing he would take it as a hint I was interested.

  “Indeed he is,” he replied. “Tough, but fair.”

  I nodded and took another sip—not as bad as the first one. “Okay. Let’s see where you’re going, Mr. Gaines.”

  “Those are in one-minute increments,” he said as I started spooling the index list.

  I loaded the data into my map reader and let the auto-labeler mark each layer with the timestamp from the file names. The GPS tags on each image let me synchronize them with a map overlay with longitude and latitude.

  “These look tight,” I noted, watching my script pull the images into place beneath an opaque road map of the region. “I need the address.”

  “38547 C and S Road,” he replied. “Colorado Springs.”

  Once the image library finished compiling, I zoomed in to the address around the time John said the 911 call had been made. The garage was a bloom of red on the infrared image, but no sign of the Crown Victoria. I rolled it back more, one minute at a time, until I saw it.

  There, parked a short distance from a garage, was the Crown Vic we had seen on the ATM video. The infrared images clearly showed a buildup of heat inside the structure.

  “Almost three hours,” I said as I looked at my watch.

  “What?” John asked.

  “Yeah. Gaines’s car left the scene at 1:17a.m.”

  “Where’s he headed?” John asked.

  I ticked the timestamp up in one minute intervals until the car disappeared from the frame. Then I zoomed out and reacquired it as it left the
long driveway and merged onto the road. I highlighted the image of the car and tagged it as target one, zoomed all the way out and ran the time sequence out like a stop frame video.

  “South on 25,” I replied. “Santa Fe…maybe Albuquerque?”

  “Grab your stuff,” John said urgently. “We have ground to make up.”

  “John,” I said, wanting him to slow down a bit. “He’s flying… Doing at least ninety miles an hour if not more, judging by the distance he’s covered already.”

  “Make your point,” John said, losing patience—I’d have to break him of that habit if we were going to work together.

  “We need to get ahead of him if we're going to anticipate where he’s going,” I replied. “Let’s fly to Albuquerque, get another image package, and try for an intercept rather than just chasing three or four hours behind him.”

  He stared at me for a moment, digesting my suggestion.

  “Besides putting us ahead of him, it would also let us get more rest than he’s getting,” I added, trying to sway him. “At some point, he’ll have to stop.”

  “He’s a trained Agent,” John said, concocting a weak rebuttal. “How much sleep do you think he needs?”

  “His sister was killed in the wee hours of the morning yesterday,” I replied. “He’s probably already driven cross-country all day, and now he’s driving south on the interstate at a high-rate of speed. Eventually, that adrenaline burn is going to wear off and he’s going to crash—physically, if not emotionally.”

  John nodded. “Okay, Albuquerque.”

  I felt a renewed sense of confidence that he valued my opinion enough to change course. That was followed by a renewed sense of pressure to not be wrong.

  You are on the right track, I heard my other voice whisper into my ear.

  I had almost forgotten about my on-board ‘copilot’. Its insertion gave me a momentary respite from the worry.

  We packed up our gear and were on our way to the airport. If everything worked out right, we’d get to Albuquerque shortly before Gaines did. If not, then at least we will have closed the gap some.