She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies)

by Adams Irish, Travis

  Henri lifts his head for a moment, feeling paralyzed with fear, remembering the report from Devlin’s file on the operations in Iraq, where he reported making a deadly chloramine teargas by mixing ammonia with bleach. When the terrorists ran from the building to get fresh air, he used a .50 caliber sniper rifle to finish the job. There were no survivors.

  Henri also recalls that the mixture of ammonia and bleach is deadly and toxic if you breathe in the fumes for too long. He looks at Lorabell and Maxwell, watching them both breathing at least twice as hard as they would normally. Their necks are red with the onset of asphyxiation, but all three of them are able to take in oxygen on their own.

  “We need to go to the hospital,” Henri admits as his knees slowly sink toward the sidewalk, “back in The Middle East, Devlin was trained… His job was to scare the shit out of the enemy…”

  Henri bends slowly toward the ground as the sound of sirens approach from the long, concrete security drive of the CIA black site. Maxwell and Lorabell also drop to the ground, the trio soon unconscious and vulnerable on the sidewalk.

  XII. Armani – Does this make me look dead

  ‘It has been two days since the attack on their so-called secure CIA facility,’ Lorabell thinks to herself as she sits waiting in Maxwell’s shared office to meet with Henri. Her fingers are gripping the chair with white-knuckle intensity as she recalls the hellish events that were brought right to their doorstep by a tactical genius. The young college professor has toned down her look, electing to feel safer and more mobile in her clothing, wearing a long turtleneck sweatshirt with large, orange and white stripes, and a pair of black jeans. With so many questions swimming through her mind about Devlin, Lorabell barely notices the new replacement agent, Sarah Hearthstone, seated in the chair next to her.

  She smiles at Sarah briefly, admiring the young woman’s long brunette hair and delicate Hispanic features. With her athletic body, the woman looks much younger than her true age of 33. Although Lorabell is not in the habit of being competitive, she admits to herself that Sarah’s sexy body is a threat to her within the social hierarchy. Sarah returns the smile, more with her green eyes than with her face, showing off a deep-seeded intellect and strength.

  “All right, let’s get started.” Henri says gruffly as he walks into the office with Maxwell in tow, wearing his standard black suit and a dark blue tie.

  “What did you want to talk abut first?” Maxwell asks, as he takes a seat behind his own work desk, setting a large drink next to his Macintosh laptop amongst several pewter figurines.

  This office has a simple layout containing two desks that face inward with ten feet of space between them. The ladies are seated facing east in front of Maxwell’s desk, while Henri takes a position just opposite them, to the left of small desk. There is a large window above each workstation, providing a feeling of warmth from the natural lighting.

  “Well, let’s introduce the new girl.” Henri begins as he takes a seat in the black, ergonomic chair. “Everyone, this is Sarah, she is here from Langley to help us with operations and to provide a bit more security. Her specialty is in geo-political tactics, but she’s also good at messing with people’s minds… or so I’m told.”

  Everyone smiles and nods at Sarah, feeling good to have a new team member, but also pessimistic that she has no idea how deadly a threat they are up against.

  “Another piece of news,” Henri begins, adjusting his tie as he speaks to reinforce his authority, “General Mason will be joining us to take over the military leg of our operations. Since Ming was killed, and we lost three agents just two days ago, The President has decided to send in a more experienced military leader to help us out.”

  Maxwell raises the forty-four ounce drink to his face, letting the ice slosh around a bit as he places the straw in his mouth and sucks down the dark-colored soda from within. He stares down at the twelve-inch pewter figurines on his desk: a wizard, a dragon, and a dwarf. His eyes wander over Sarah’s tantalizing body when she is not looking and then back to the short figurines near him. The young man feels suddenly sheepish and geeky wearing his black T-shirt and a matching pair of jean shorts.

  “Now the purpose of this meeting is to get us all up to speed so that we have a better chance of finding and capturing or… killing Devlin.” Henri says with a disgusted stare, chewing his bottom lip a bit. “What I do know is that Devlin painted himself in blackface and entered the building pretending to be a member of our janitorial staff named Toby. Since the front desk was preoccupied with a homeless woman, trying to enter with Ming’s security badge, he was able to slip through easily. Devlin then created a slippery mixture of soaps and waxes that caused agent Sharpe to fall and injure himself on the floor. He then used a mop handle and some garbage bags to dispatch agent Sharpe… We all saw what happened next… with the poison.”

  “Yeah, he also killed Ming a few days ago; that’s why Mason is here!” Maxwell spouts off in an arrogant tone, trying to impress the new girl, but realizing halfway through his statement that he has made a mistake.

  “Right…” Henri begins, appearing vicious at first, but relaxing into a smile. “You had an idea for catching Devlin quicker. Why don’t you run and get your notes on that?” Henri asks with a bright smile, glancing at Maxwell in a fatherly fashion.

  Maxwell returns Henri’s smile, feeling a sense of pride, like a more important member of the team. He bolts up from the desk and steps lively out to the hallway, allowing the door to close automatically behind him.

  “Now, ladies,” Henri says as he rises coolly from his chair and steps over to Maxwell’s desk, “sometimes things just have to be done a certain way.” He reaches out and grips Maxwell’s drink with his right hand, popping off the small, flimsy lid before setting the large, plastic cup back down on the desk. “I don’t always enjoy what needs to be done,” Henri continues, removing his aged penis from his slacks as he lowers it into Maxwell’s drink, “but I have always been able to get it done.”

  The sight of his member in the workplace does not resonate well with the ladies, and their faces transform to immediate disgust. He watches the stunned expressions of the two women as he urinates into Maxwell’s drink, filling it almost full with a mixture of his body waste and diet soda. Sarah and Lorabell look down at the flaccid penis in Maxwell’s drink with shock and queasy frustration, and then they look away, waiting for Henri to finish in discomfort. Both ladies cringe from their padded, leather swivel chairs as the man in his fifties taps his penis to get the last few drops of urine out, each of them thinking about walking off the job. The Congressman delicately puts his member away and pulls his zipper back up, restoring decency to the room.

  Henri finishes this repulsive deed with a nonchalant expression, systematically putting the lid back on the drink and returning it to the desk near Maxwell’s laptop. He then holds his index finger up to his lips, indicating a need for secrecy.

  “I want you both to watch this carefully,” Henri continues, looking down at their mortified faces as he takes his seat again, “Maxwell got one of our female colleagues killed a few days ago. He sent her after Devlin without my permission- and Devlin… Devlin beat her to death! That same smug sonofabitch, just sat here and bragged about that woman being killed.” He pauses and looks at both of them, hoping they understand the method behind his madness. “Just remember as you watch him enjoy a big drink, that it could have been you that was killed in the field. I had to explain to her mother that she’s dead, but I couldn’t tell her that it was for no good reason!”

  “You’re going to love this!” Maxwell says as he steps back into the room, pausing to see Henri talking to the two women. “Did I miss an important part of the meeting?” He asks, returning to his desk with a DVD-ROM in hand, which he pushes into the slot at the right side of his laptop.

  “No,” Henri says quickly, “we were just telling Sarah how deadly Devlin can be.”

  As their colleague takes his seat to join them, Sarah and Lorabel
l don’t say a word, feeling justified by Henri’s story about the dead agent. Their eyes are locked on Maxwell’s drink, watching in repulsed fascination, and swallowing with instinctive empathy every few seconds.

  “Okay, so I found something great!” Maxwell begins, gesturing toward the screen of his laptop.

  All three of his colleagues watch his hand as it gets closer to the large cup, wondering how long it will take for him to realize their betrayal.

  “So you know that dog Devlin stole was from Auburn University’s training program, right?” Maxwell looks around the room with excitement, feeling like a genius, and enjoying their stunned faces. “Well, all of those dogs were equipped with tracking chips at eight-weeks. What I’ve done is contacted the systems admin at the university to get me the GPS tracking login for Gloria’s chip. As soon as we know where the dog is, then we’ll be able to zoom in with the GPS coordinates and catch Devlin.” Maxwell reaches over and picks up his drink, surprised at first by the weight as he brings it toward his lips.

  “How long will it take to get the tracking info back?” Lorabell asks, feeling her stomach churn at the idea of watching Maxwell drink fresh urine.

  “It should be by the end of today,” Maxwell says, pointing his drink at her as he pulls it away from his face, “but I have Langley’s best hacker working on their firewall, and he may be able to get it for me within the hour.”

  “How close of a proximity will that give us? Those chips are small; will it… Will it, uh, give us a… good location?” Lorabell asks, stammering a bit to come up with another question.

  “I’ll answer that.” Henri interrupts, putting his hand out in front of Maxwell. “These are third-generation chips, and we should be able to lock down Devlin’s location within a one-hundred foot radius or better.”

  Maxwell nods as he presses the bright red straw against his tongue, sucking the fluid out of the large, white plastic cup while watching Henri speak. Within a few seconds, his eyebrows come together with a look of concern and confusion. He pulls the straw out of his mouth and starts to gag, removing the clear, plastic lid from his drink to peer inside.

  “That’s what you get for Ming, Motherfucker!” Henri growls as he leaps from his chair, letting it tip over on the floor as he grabs the cup from Maxwell and dumps it down his face and chest.

  The young programmer is shocked at the behavior of his superior, and as the scent of urine hits his nostrils, he is altogether confused and disgusted. Henri grabs him by his black Metallica T-shirt and pulls him backward in his chair, tipping it to the ground. He then snatches the pewter wizard figurine from the desk and uses it to bash Maxwell in the head several times. On the second strike, there is a loud, hollow thud, which causes both ladies to jump a bit, and is enough to make Henri stop his attack. Everyone holds their breath during the few seconds of silence that follows, looking at the figurine in Henri’s right hand, noticing that the wizard’s pewter head is smudged with blood.

  “Well at least I don’t like to have sex with young, blind virgins!” Maxwell cries out as he grabs his head in pain. “Did you tell them about your fetish, Henri?” He asks, rising slowly to his feet and stumbling around clumsily to regain his balance; a small stream of blood running down his face onto the urine-soaked T-shirt. “Your boss here,” Maxwell snarls, pointing at Henri with his left hand while covering his head with his right, “pays a guy to seduce young, blind women so that he can sneak into the room… and take their virginity!’

  “That’s not true!” Henri says with a somewhat flustered, reddening face, suddenly eager to help his colleague up so that he can leave the room.

  “It is true! That’s why Devlin left the operation; he caught you in the act… Fucking look into it, Lorabell!” Maxwell exclaims as Henri leads him by the arm to the door of the office and out into the hallway.

  After the two men walk outside, Lorabell and Sarah stand up in a flighty panic, also wanting to vacate from the urine smell, disturbed by the thoughts expressed within these walls.

  Blood is trickling from the right side of Maxwell’s skull as Henri escorts him through the hallway to the first aid clinic. He gazes ferociously at the young man’s pale, bald head, eyeing what appears to be a small section of freshly broken bone, resulting with an indentation a bit larger than a quarter.

  A few minutes later, Henri is sitting on the expensive leather sofa near the door of General Mason’s new office. His temples are throbbing with a migraine reminiscent of The Grand Canyon; echoes of pain shrieking off the vast walls like the cries of eagles. Lorabell is seated in one of two matching, brown leather chairs directly in front of Mason’s desk. Her legs are crossed, and hands are clasped together in a display of professional concern.

  General Mason is an older man with a gruff voice, having spent most of his life acting as the authority over others. His green uniform bears three stars with several medals awarded from the United States Army. The General’s eyes are a shiny blue-gray and he has neat tufts of brown and gray hair on his head, appearing healthy and intelligent for a man in his late forties.

  “So are we going to address this claim that you have sex with young blind women?” Mason asks, looking up at Henri with discerning eyes.

  Lorabell turns to her left, looking back at Henri on the sofa and carefully observing how he responds, keeping her hands clasped together in the vigilant pose of a classy lady.

  “It is well documented by the CIA that I have had relationships with a few blind women; all of them consensual, and every one of them over the age of eighteen.” Henri admits with some hesitation, breathing slowly as he tries to relax the throbbing in his head.

  “Were any of them virgins?” Lorabell asks, turning further to look at her new boss; wanting to see his eyes.

  “Did any of the young men who went down on you at the university have their virginity?” Henri asks with renewed poise and strength. “Isn’t it true that every time you take a man into your office to give you oral sex; he’s even younger than the last? Should we compare notes on this matter? Do we want to talk about the cameras you had installed in the dorms..? No… None of the women I’ve ever engaged with have been virgins…” Henri says, showing bitter contempt for the young Asian woman, ensuring that his tone is threatening and personal.

  “Okay, you’ve… satisfied my curiosity on that question… Thank you!” Lorabell replies as a sudden shockwave of fear resonates through her.

  “What about this claim that you urinated in Maxwell’s drink today, and hit him over the head with a statue? Did you witness any of this, Ms. Cardigan?” Mason asks with a monotonous stare, giving her no opportunity to read him.

  “No, Sarah and I didn’t see anything like that.” Lorabell blurts out with an empty gaze. “Maxwell is just… feeling the pressure from the attack the other day.”

  “Well, what the hell should I do with all this?” The General asks, looking at Lorabell and Henri with his hands outstretched. “Either you’re all really bad liars, or you’ve decided that you want to take care of everyone in your unit and give it another chance? Lorabell, do you have anything else you want to tell me?”

  “No, Sir.” Lorabell says with a repressed smile, looking a bit exhausted just from the effort of holding up her head.

  “Henri, do you have anything you want to tell me?” The General asks, appearing somewhat annoyed from behind his desk as he goes through the motions.

  “Yeah, I’d like you to review Maxwell’s personnel file before listening to anymore testimony from him.” Henri explains with cool confidence. “He does have a history of being rather dramatic, in a deadly sort of way.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” The General states dispassionately, brushing the comment aside in a political fashion with a lack of patience now showing in his eyes. “Ms. Cardigan, you’re excused, we’ll touch base with you after Devlin is apprehended, which might be as soon as today… Oh, one last thing…” General Mason begins, holding up his hand for Lorabell to stay. “Juli
a Welheim committed suicide while under your supervision. Now despite the gas attack, it was our responsibility to keep her safe. This is something we’ll have to discuss when you get back.”

  “Julia is dead?” Lorabell asks, as she grabs at her forehead in shame and her eyes begin to water with emotion.

  “Yeah, she ended her life with a shotgun while you were in the hospital, which goes a bit of the distance to prove Henri’s theory, but it doesn’t look good for the program.” Mason confides with a somber stare. “Again, the attack by Devlin will let you off the hook for now, but we WILL be investigating deeper when you return.”

  Lorabell forces herself to maintain composure, falling apart beneath the surface at the news of the fallen woman who was in so much pain. The young professor rises from her chair, feeling like the Hitler of her generation, and watching Henri with suspicion as she walks past the leather sofa to exit the large corner office.

  “So The President sent you in to babysit my sorry ass?” Henri asks in devious manner once Lorabell has left the room. “…Nothing better than being watched by a guy who has more dirt on him than you.” He adds with a wide smile.