by Jeff Siebold
The interior search took 12 minutes, after which George exited the house through the back door, and searched the yard and surrounding area. He had found no sign of the women in the house, after a thorough and meticulous search. There was an area outside the back door where the grass had recently been matted down by footsteps. He could see the two different size footprints, both smaller, one barefoot and a women’s size. The footprints went to the back of the yard and then into the foliage. There was pine straw on the foliage bed, and the tracks disappeared at that point.
This advances my schedule, George thought, as he returned to the garage.
* * *
“Mr. Cruz, your time has run out,” said George. “Jefe wants you to understand what happens to those who defy his instructions. A lesson for you, and for others.”
Cruz grunted into his gag. He saw that George had returned alone, which meant that Mary was safe…possibly. He could only hope.
“Do you see that drain in the center of the floor?” asked George. “There, to the side of the Range Rover.”
Cruz saw it.
“It will be convenient.” He took the large knife from his pocket. “I had planned to make this last all night,” continued the Accountant. “An event that will cause fear for all of Jefe’s adversaries. An event that will enhance my reputation even further. A devastating and overwhelming event.
“I was looking forward to hearing you beg, to hearing you plea for your daughter’s life and then for your own. I’ve been looking forward to this evening of two slow, painful but related executions of Maria and then yourself.
“I had planned to hang your daughter from the beams in here,” he said, pointing at several hooks and chains connected into the exposed support beams that crossed the open garage, “and I had planned to skin her. Flaying the skin from her muscle like you would a deer or a sheep.
“I prefer what is called ‘Open Skinning’, Mr. Cruz. I would first make a cut between her anus and her lower lip, right up the belly. And then I would make cuts up the inside of the legs and the arms. With that, the skin would peel away more easily.
“At first she wouldn’t believe that it was happening to her, but soon she would see that there would be no recovery from such a thing. She would give up hope. That’s the part I enjoy the most, Mr. Cruz. Looking into their eyes when they give up hope.”
Cruz looked at him, shaking his head quickly.
“And by then I would have begun to cut her. I would have taken her fingers, one by one. And her ears, one then the other. And then her nose, and then her breasts. By that point she would have died a most unpleasant death, from shock or loss of blood or perhaps a heart attack. They always die by that point,” he said fondly, almost to himself.
“But, it appears that we won’t have the luxury of time, Mr. Cruz. We must be about our business.”
The Accountant stepped up to Alberto Cruz, and, turning sideways to avoid any thought of a kick, he deftly unbuckled Cruz’s pants, ripped the zipper down and let them fall to the ground. Cruz was wearing white boxers.
The killer stared at Cruz with still, reptilian eyes, never blinking. “Your femoral artery is right there,” he said, pointing with the sharp end of the knife. “It runs right along your thigh bone, most prominently at the middle and lower part of your thigh. When I slice it open, it will pump the blood from your body out onto the garage floor, and you’ll bleed out in a minute or so. Long gushes of sticky red blood that smells like dirty copper.”
Cruz shook his head frantically.
“There’s no way to stop the arterial bleeding, Mr. Cruz. None. So, you’ll know that you’re dead before you pass out. You’ll know that you’re hopelessly dead, and there’s nothing that can be done about it,” said George.
“Right here,” he said. He placed the knifepoint on Cruz’s thigh. “Jefe sends his best. And be assured, your daughter will be next.” George flicked his wrist deftly, cutting Cruz’s thigh, and then he stumbled and fell.
Chapter 39
Clive and Zeke had parked the Honda three houses down from Jefe’s house, in the driveway of what looked like a vacant house. There were no lights on in the house, and a metal “For Sale” sign was placed obviously in the front yard near the street. The lawn was a bit overgrown.
They circled the house and walked in the shadows to an area behind the house that County property records indicated was owned by Enrique Gurrerra. The house was dark and quiet.
Clive was dressed in matte black cargo pants, with a black tee shirt and matching cork-soled shoes and a black watch cap. He was essentially invisible as he moved through the yard. Zeke thought that he looked like some of the British Paratroopers he’d seen in James Bond movies.
The rear garage window was covered on the inside with a black plastic bag, and the rest of the house looked empty. Zeke and Clive made their way to the back of the house, and then quietly stepped through the partially open door into the kitchen. They moved from the kitchen into the small utility room, where they heard a quiet voice from the garage.
“Do you smell that?” mouthed Zeke. He sniffed again.
“No time,” signaled Clive. He handed his silenced pistol to Zeke. “It’s made ready,” Clive said, moving his lips without volume. British for ‘cocked and locked’, Zeke interpreted to himself. He palmed the gun and silently released the safety.
Clive’s Browning Hi-Power MK III pistol was a throwback to his British Army days. Clive had carried that personal sidearm since Zeke had first met him about 7 years ago during Operation Iraqi Freedom. It was the prescribed British soldier’s sidearm following World War II, and Zeke suspected it had replaced the more traditional basket-hilted claymore sword Clive had probably carried for years before that. This pistol was fitted with a suppresser.
Zeke quietly dropped to the floor and then quickly glanced around the corner of the doorjamb into the garage. The small man, George, was partially turned away from Zeke, up close with Cruz, and talking to him with an intimate tone in his voice. Zeke couldn’t make out the words, but the sound was like a seductive whisper.
Left handed head shot, Zeke thought.
On his feet again, Zeke stepped halfway into the garage with his body perpendicular to George and Cruz, exposing as little of himself as possible. Arm extended, breathing out slowly, he braced against the doorjamb.
As George flicked his wrist at Cruz’s leg, Zeke shot him in the right side of his head four times, the barrel of the MK III following George down to the floor. Pink puffs of vapor floated in the air, combined, and then fell to the ground covering the body. “Better than center mass,” Zeke said to Clive.
* * *
“Bloody good shooting,” said Clive from over Zeke’s shoulder. The Accountant was huddled at Cruz’s feet, a limp, lifeless pile of clothing, a headless body bleeding on Cruz’s bunched pants and shoes. There was a lot of blood.
Zeke stepped into the garage, took a deep breath and cleared the space quickly. No one under or in the car, no one on the other side of the vehicle, Cruz now hanging from his handcuffs, leg bleeding slowly, eyes wide with terror, but also with recognition and therein, some hope.
“Let’s get Mr. Cruz down,” said Clive. He shut off the interior light and pushed the button to open the double garage door, knowing that the exterior glowing darkness that occurred just after sunset would provide them cover while they freed Cruz and cleaned up what was left of George.
Clive dragged George’s body away from Cruz’s feet while Zeke tied Cruz’s leg with a towel tourniquet and began working on releasing Cruz’s handcuffs.
“I suggest that you stand up straight and put your hands out to your sides. Or I’ll shoot you,” said Carlos, brandishing his AR-15 rifle.
Zeke relaxed away from Cruz, turned around and held his hands out from his sides.
“Drop the gun on the floor,” said Carlos, and Zeke did, taking it from his belt and dropping it so it bounced off George’s inert body to avoid an accidental discharge.
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sp; Clive released his hold on George’s legs, and turned and looked at Carlos, his arms also held out from his sides.
“What other weapons do you have?” Carlos asked.
“I don’t know what’s in the car,” said Zeke. “But my handgun is in the back of my belt,” he said, knowing that Carlos had already seen it.
“Toss it down,” said Carlos. Zeke set it on the floor gently and kicked it away. The gun slid across the concrete floor and came to rest near the workbench on the other side of the garage.
“It’s loaded with hollow points,” Zeke said to Carlos.
“Wait there,” Carlos said. With his rifle aimed at them, Carlos looked around the garage and on both sides of the car. He glanced in the back seat and then walked over to the duffle bag on the floor.
“Jefe’s counterfeit plates, I assume,” he said, to no one in particular. He kicked the bag lightly and heard the muffled, padded metal sound.
Carlos pointed and Clive carefully took a small step to his right past Cruz toward the far corner of the garage and away from the door into the house. Carlos signed with his rifle barrel that Zeke should move that direction, also. Carlos stepped behind them toward the door to the house and pushed the automatic garage door button on the wall. The light came on and the garage door began to close, and Carlos stepped around the front of the car and then circled back to his left a bit, away from the car, improving his angle.
Carlos turned and said to Cruz, “You have run out of time. Jefe sent me to be sure nothing else goes wrong,” he continued. “And it will not.”
Chapter 40
After lying in the bushes at the back of the yard for what seemed like forever, Mary stepped through the pine straw and into the adjoining back yard. The back yards of the houses were wooded and dense, which provided good cover, but made for slower movement. She was barefoot and had to feel her way through the wooded area along the back fence, and across the property line to the neighboring house.
There was a light on, visible from the back of the neighbor’s house and from the back of the yard Mary could see the flickering of the television set as its light came through the window. Through a smaller window, she saw a woman walk across what was probably the kitchen and turn out an overhead light. Mary stood still for a moment and listened for Kimmy behind her. She heard nothing but background noises, the tree frogs and the squirrels rustling. And then suddenly she heard a crack, like a loud whip, breaking the silence. It came from the house she’d just left.
* * *
As directed, Clive and then Zeke had carefully stepped farther away from the utility room and turned and waited for Carlos’ next instruction.
“Sit on the floor, right there,” he said. As Clive slowly moved to sit on the concrete garage floor, Carlos said, “I believe you know the potential of this AR-15. This one is set for a three-round burst mode right now. It is likely to kill you both with one pull of the trigger. We are, what, one meter apart?”
Behind Carlos, to his right, Zeke noticed a small movement in one of the cabinet doors under the workbench. The left side door panel slid open silently about six inches, and a small hand was framed in the opening.
“I have no time to waste, amigo,” Carlos said as he moved to the right and knelt over George’s body, quickly searching his pockets for the keys to the Range Rover. “I will take care of business and head back home.” Carlos looked at the key fob with the Range Rover logo, nodded to himself and stood up. He moved to the left, back to where he was closer to Zeke and Clive, and he pointed the AR-15 at them.
In Carlos’ mind, these men were already dead. He had seen movies in which the killer talked at length and explained to the victims what he was going to do and why. He’d seen TV shows where the killer went to great pains to be certain that the victim understood his motivations before he killed them. None of this made any sense to Carlos. All of the men before him would be dead in a few seconds. Why would he communicate with them now? It would be a waste of his breath.
In one fluid motion Carlos raised his rifle to head height, quickly leveling the barrel and sighting, and tightening his grip on the trigger as he prepared to execute Zeke and Clive. He had killed many men this way. He was already thinking about his exit and the duffle bag sitting on the floor.
Zeke stepped into the gunman, pushing the rifle barrel away to the left with his left forearm, grabbing the barrel and jamming the AR-15’s sight into Carlos’ eye with his right. Then there was a muzzle flash and a loud crack filled the silence of the garage.
From Zeke’s vantage point, there was no result from the gunshot. And then a second later Carlos dropped the rifle and fell onto his knees. Carlos looked down in puzzlement, even disbelief, his eye bleeding from the blow from the rifle sight, and then he fell forward hard onto his face, his hands not breaking the fall. Zeke saw a small bloody hole between Carlos’ shoulder blades, a perfect upper body mass shot with a hollow point bullet, which had inevitably bounced around inside his torso, tearing up all forms of organs, meat and bones. Carlos lay on the floor in a jointless heap.
“Got him,” said Kimmy. She opened the small cabinet door under the workbench the rest of the way, and smiled at Zeke and Clive.
Clive was on his feet immediately, and while Clive disarmed the dying Carlos, Zeke helped Kimmy out of the small cabinet.
“How did you know I was hiding there,” she asked Zeke, once she’d been extracted from the cupboard.
“I faintly smelled lilac when I first entered the utility room and the garage,” he said. “I knew it wasn’t from Cruz or George. Or from Clive. He’s a D.R. Harris cologne man.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” said Kimmy. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. After I helped Mary get out, I decided to come back here and see what the kidnapper was planning. To see if I could help or something. And your comment about the hollow points gave me confidence to shoot him, even though you were in the line of fire. No chance of a through-and-through, Zeke,” Kimmy said with a smile.
“Where is Maria? Where’s my daughter?” said Cruz, when Clive removed the tape and the gag from his mouth. “Is she OK?” Cruz had a long cut across the front of his thigh, which was bleeding slowly down his leg. No artery involved, thought Zeke. Looks like George was enjoying it, taking his time and teasing Cruz.
“She’s fine, Mary’s fine,” said Kimmy. “She went out the back door about ten minutes ago. I’d bet she’s somewhere down the block, hiding. She couldn’t be too far. She doesn’t have any shoes on.”
* * *
There was the usual commotion, with sirens and light-bars and floodlights and cops milling around everywhere. Zeke and Clive were detained in the back of separate Atlanta police cars while the house was searched and the supervisors tried to make sense of the scene. After the crime scene was marked off and the local policemen were posted to keep the neighbors away, Clive and Zeke were taken to the local police precinct, and each made their statement in separate rooms.
“Our role was accidental,” explained Zeke, in an interrogation room at the police station. “We were looking at the house with the “For Sale” sign in front of it, and we heard some loud noises and decided to see if there was trouble.”
“You just happened to be there at that moment?” asked Detective Black, a short heavy man with longish gray hair slicked back with some sort of hair oil. He smelled of Old Spice cologne.
“Yes, we did,” said Zeke.
“You know it’s a crime to lie to a police officer,” said Black. He looked at Zeke with a cold eye.
Zeke nodded.
More cold-eye from Black.
Zeke tried to look nervous. He rubbed his hands together and looked away.
After Cruz had been uncuffed, Zeke and Clive conferred while Kimmy, bandaged his leg and kept a friendly eye on him. They decided that Kimmy should take Mary away from the crime scene. Any evidence of the women found in the bedroom prison or the house could be explained as being from an earlier time. If they did find evide
nce to track the girls, it would be almost impossible to find them. And, most likely DNA clues would take weeks to be confirmed. By then, a lot of things would have changed, beginning with their geography.
Detained as “persons of interest” at first, the evidence against Zeke and Clive quickly began to organize itself into a legitimate self-defense situation. The fact that they had been facing an AR-15 rifle was in their favor. The fact that the two corpses were both known offenders, associated with the cartel and with history on the FBI’s and the DEA’s most wanted lists didn’t hurt, either. And Clive’s idea to put George’s fingerprints on Zeke’s handgun helped muck up the crime scene even further.
The Atlanta police quickly determined that Clive was a principal in The Agency, but at about the same time the local FBI office asked the police to release Clive and Zeke. Clive’s recruiting skills were impressive. He had recruited a half-dozen highly ranked and respected former FBI agents to The Agency, who exerted their considerable influence on the Washington, DC Headquarters of the FBI, who in turn spoke with the FBI’s Atlanta Special Agent In Charge, who immediately called the Chief of the Atlanta Police. Shortly after that phone call, Zeke and Clive were released, with stern warnings from Detective Black to “be available” and “don’t leave town.”
The witness to the shootings, Alberto Cruz, wasn’t on the FBI’s radar. He was a Mexican national with no record in the United States, and apparently none in Mexico. His fingerprints triggered nothing on IAFIS – the FBI fingerprint database – and calls to the Mexican Federal Police showed nothing of interest.
Mr. Cruz was reportedly a native of San Luis Rio Colorado, where he had no police record and no incidents with the local law. In interviews from his hospital bed, Mr. Cruz confirmed that both Zeke and Clive had saved his life, and that they had acted in self-defense.
Cruz further explained that he had been kidnapped by the small man and made to accompany him to this house. He expected that it was meant to be perhaps a robbery or a ransom situation, but it hadn’t developed far enough to know.
