The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara

by James R. Pera

  “Am I from the office of the chief of staff? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Do you think I am, Mr. Judd?” Ryan felt that an ambiguous and noncommittal answer would make the best reply at this stage.

  “I…I…I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking,” replied the terrified Judd.

  “Sit back down and get comfortable while I adjust the thermostat, Mr. Judd. I wouldn’t want you to get a chill,” Ryan said coldly as he glared expressionlessly at his unwilling host.

  “I don’t need any more heat. It’s warm enough already,” Judd protested.

  “Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Judd. It just seems warm. Why, it’s only a hundred and four degrees. Let’s see, now. Where’s the…? Oh, there it is. I’ll just turn up the thermostat to, uh, yeah, let me see. How’s a hundred and twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit sound, Mr. Judd? Do you think that will relax you?”

  “I’ll boil! Please don’t do this to me!” Judd pleaded.

  Ryan chuckled and shook his head. “You won’t boil Mr. Judd. Water boils at two hundred and twelve degrees. Your thermostat isn’t equipped for that type of heat. Besides, I’m not a sadist. I don’t even like it when seafood restaurants boil live crabs, but that’s not to say that I won’t consider letting you simmer for a few hours while we talk.”

  Despite the water temperature, Ryan could see that Judd was shaking. He was pleased. He enjoyed inflicting mental and emotional pain on cowardly, traitorous, communist, Islamofascist-loving terrorists like Judd. Yes, he’d amuse himself by toying with this scum sucker for a while, just as he’d done with the Delgadillos, Hayward, and Finnegan. Then after breaking him down psychologically, he’d commence a physical torture session proportionate to the pain and suffering Jonas had inflicted on others.

  “By the way, Mr. Judd, you don’t happen to have an electrical appliance I can use in case I decide to leave early, do you? I was thinking we could save a lot of unnecessary time and suffering if you do. I could just hook it up and throw it in the water with you. It’d be over before you know it.” Ryan turned up the thermostat and continued, “So where shall we begin, Mr. Judd?”

  “I…” Judd tried to answer but was interrupted.

  “Do you mind if I call you Jonas? I think that would be nice.”

  Judd didn’t respond, so Ryan continued tormenting him.

  “Yes, let me call you Jonas. If I’m going to shepherd you into the afterlife, I think it’s only fitting that we adopt a less formal tone with each other. Don’t you agree?”

  CHAPTER

  44

  The black van drove past Judd’s house and continued on down the hill. A few minutes later, it returned from the opposite direction and passed by a second time before rounding the corner and coming to a stop.

  The men filed out of the van and moved swiftly toward the expensive bayside home. Armed with silencer-equipped semiautomatic pistols, they entered the property and took up their positions.

  When Tucker was satisfied that the perimeter team—consisting of Coleman, Dodge, Lutcher, and Young—had a visual on all approaches to the house, he nodded to the entry team. Hatcher produced a burglar kit and, after a couple of minutes, was able to breach the lock and open the front door.

  Tucker moved past him. Using hand signals, he directed Fachini and Meeker to begin a sweep of the ground floor and then motioned Hatcher to follow him upstairs. Not long after the entry, a problem developed on the exterior perimeter when a large German shepherd trotting up from the beach happened upon Lutcher and Young and began barking incessantly. Lutcher attempted to quiet him but backed away as the dog began growling and moving toward him in a crouch.

  Seeing what was about to happen, Young decided to end the threat and without further ado put two bullets into the dog’s body. The dying yelp from the canine was followed by the appearance of a young couple. Stunned, the two stopped and began to turn as if preparing to run. Lutcher pointed his gun at them and shook his head.

  Young removed a roll of duct tape from his pocket and guided the couple away from the moonlight and into the shadows of the house.

  While Lutcher held them at gunpoint, Young taped and bound their mouths, hands, and ankles. After securing them, he advised the couple that no harm would come to them as long as they stayed put.

  Tears appeared in the woman’s eyes. It was unclear whether she was crying out of fear or from grief over the loss of her dog. Maybe it was a combination of both. The reason really didn’t matter. The important thing, as far as Lutcher and Young were concerned, was that they were able to abate the situation before it got out of control and screwed up the operation.

  Lutcher whispered to Young, “Are you serious about not harming them? We’re not supposed to leave any witnesses. You were there when Sterling specifically mentioned that, or did you forget about it?”

  Young looked surprised. “Look, Dave. These two pose no immediate threat to us and I’m not about to snuff out their lives because they had the misfortune to innocently stumble upon us in the middle of the night. They’re securely bound and will remain so until long after we’re gone. They haven’t seen our faces and have no way of identifying us, so to hell with that order. Just disregard it.”

  Lutcher persisted, “An order’s an order, Floyd. If we’re going to have a chain of command, we’re going to have to abide by directives that are issued by those who outrank us.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe that’s your idea of what makes us legitimate, Dave, but it isn’t mine. Besides, Sterling isn’t here. You know as well as I do that plans usually go down the shitter when the action begins. So let me reiterate. The couple lives.”

  “But…”

  “There’ll be no buts about it, Dave. Now get your ass back to your own corner of the house before I lose my patience and do something we’ll both regret,” Young said in a tone that was unmistakably a threat.

  “Okay, Floyd, but this discussion isn’t over. We’ll see what Frank has to say before we leave. My guess is that he’ll agree with me,” countered Lutcher, determined to have the last word.

  Young stared at Lutcher. “Don’t push it, Dave.”

  Lutcher turned and walked back to his position at the other end of the building.

  Inside the house, Tucker and Hatcher were about to find their own little surprise waiting for them on the second floor. About halfway up the staircase, Tucker stopped and raised his hand, signaling Hatcher to do the same. As they stood listening, they heard the muffled sound of voices coming from the second floor but couldn’t make out what was being said.

  After a few seconds, the two men continued cautiously to the top. It was there, at the top of the staircase, that they saw the figure of a man illuminated by light, standing inside an open door at the other end of a long hallway. He was conversing with someone else, who was not yet in their line of sight.

  They crept stealthily toward the voices and soon caught a glimpse of the second man, who was sitting in a hot tub in what appeared to be a luxuriously large combination spa and bathroom. Stopping once again, they were now close enough to hear what was being said. It soon became obvious that the conversation was anything but friendly—a conclusion further reinforced when they noticed that the man standing with his back to the door was holding a large handgun.

  They waited and listened in the shadows.

  Ryan smiled as he asked Judd, “So what do you want as your epitaph, Jonas? I was thinking maybe something along the lines of, ‘Here Lies Jonas Judd, Boiled for Treason,’ or perhaps something simple like, ‘Jonas Judd, Commie Cockroach.’”

  Judd began to plead, “Look, all I did was lose my temper. I yelled into an answering machine and made some threats I didn’t have any intention of carrying out. People do that all the time when they act out of anger. Why does that merit the death penalty? All I wanted was protection from some maniac who’s going around the country assassinating my friends.”

  Ryan laughed. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it, Jonas? The prez giving the impression that you we
re some kind of big shot with all the same privileges accorded to those in his inner circle. How were you to know that calling the White House and demanding protection would put your smug little ass in jeopardy? After all, you were one of his boys, or at least that’s what you were conned into believing. But then, when you really think about it, you pretty much put the noose around your own neck when you took the demands past the acceptable threshold and began issuing threats. That was a very stupid thing to do, Jonas.”

  Judd responded, “Look, I told you. I didn’t mean anything I said. Can’t you guys understand that? I’d never sell out the president. I don’t even know that much about him. He’s already survived every accusation his detractors have leveled against him. Everything I know about him is already out there. There’s nothing more I can add that everyone’s not already aware of. No one gives a shit anyway—not the press, not the public, and least of all, not his own party. He’s untouchable. Please, you have to give me a pass on this. Go back and tell them I never meant any harm,” Judd pleaded, continuing his attempt to convince Ryan that he wasn’t a threat to anyone at the White House. “I’ll do anything they want. Please, just don’t kill me. I’m no threat to anyone.”

  “What makes you think I’m from the White House, Jonas?” Ryan asked.

  “You said you…”

  “I said what, Jonas? I didn’t say anything. I merely said I might be, when you asked. Think about that for a minute and then ask yourself why you believe the people over at the White House would deem you important enough to be on the receiving end of an executive death warrant. I seriously doubt that, in their eyes, you’d be worth the trouble. You’re nobody, and everyone except you is already aware of that fact. You’re just a slimy little washed-up anarchist and terrorist from Lenin’s Legion.”

  Judd appeared taken aback by that comment. In a trembling voice that was likely barely audible to Tucker and Hatcher in the hallway, Judd asked Ryan, “Who are you? If you’re…you’re not from the president’s office, then who are you?”

  Ryan smiled but said nothing.

  “You’re the one I was asking the White House to protect me from, aren’t you?” Judd asked.

  “Yes, I’m the one. You’ve been living on borrowed time and that time has now expired,” Ryan answered.

  Surprise combined with the fear already on Judd’s face as his eyes shifted away from Ryan’s and focused on something behind him.

  Ryan turned instinctively and saw two men standing in the doorway with their weapons pointed in his direction.

  A few seconds passed before Tucker spoke and ordered Ryan to throw his gun down. When he hesitated, a more forceful command was issued. “NOW!” yelled Tucker.

  Ryan dropped his magnum to the floor. The second man asked, “Are you still in the business of freeing the oppressed peoples of the world?”

  “What did you say?” Ryan asked, wanting to make sure his ears weren’t playing tricks on him.

  “You heard me, O’Hara.”

  Ryan looked into the blue eyes staring at him through the holes of a black ski mask and recognized the voice. “Donny?”

  Before Hatcher could answer, Tucker interjected, “What the hell, Don, do you know this guy? Because if you do, we have a major problem on our hands.”

  “We may not have as big a problem as you think, Frank. What say you, Ryan? Do we have a problem?” Hatcher asked.

  “For my sake, I hope not,” was all Ryan could say.

  Tucker suddenly yelled, “Sit down and stop moving around!” but he wasn’t talking to Ryan. He was addressing Judd, who had emerged from the water and was standing in the middle of the tub.

  Judd complied and sat back down in the hot water and remained still while the others talked.

  “Okay, friend, we don’t have a lot of time. Suppose you tell me who you are and what you’re doing here. I’ll be better equipped to make a decision about what to do with you after I’ve heard what you have to say,” Tucker instructed.

  Ryan was about to answer when Hatcher answered for him. “His name’s Ryan O’Hara, Frank. We served together in the Fifth Special Forces a few years back. Isn’t that right, O’Hara?”

  “That’s right,” Ryan replied.

  “So what are you doing here tonight?” Tucker inquired.

  “I’m here to kill a dirty little communist son of a bitch named Jonas Judd, who was part of an organization that dedicated itself to killing cops and blowing up government buildings during the sixties and seventies,” Ryan said.

  “And why would something that happened so long ago be of interest to you?” Tucker asked.

  “Because one of the cops they murdered was my grandfather, who died when this prick and other members of Lenin’s Legion made a bomb that blew up in his patrol car. This asshole’s fingerprints were found about a mile away from the scene in an apartment they were using as a bomb factory.”

  “Yeah, well, it all makes sense now. It’s you who’s been going around the country bumping off all those MRC people who’re hell-bent on upsetting our system of government and replacing it with communism, aren’t you?”

  “I see you follow the news,” Ryan said somewhat sarcastically. He was apprehensive but at the same time annoyed that his mission had been interrupted by Hatcher and this other guy. They were obviously in the house for the same reason that he was—namely, to kill Judd. The only question remaining was whether he’d be leaving with them or would die in the bathroom with Judd.

  Tucker looked at Ryan and then asked Hatcher, “So what do you think we should do, Don?”

  “I think we should blanket him into our operation and let him do what he came here to do. I’m confident he won’t say anything. He’s a silent warrior and he’s used to not talking. On top of that, his goal is parallel to ours, although for different reasons. Let him do the honors and we can be out of here and on our way,” Hatcher replied.

  “Pick up your piece, O’Hara, and finish what you started. When you’re finished, we’ll all leave together,” Tucker ordered.

  Ryan bent to pick up his revolver, but Tucker had another idea. “Kick it over here,” he instructed.

  “Why? Are you having a change of heart?”

  “No, not all. I just don’t want you firing that cannon. It’s liable to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood. Push it over here and I’ll let you use mine. It has a silencer and won’t attract any unwanted attention,” Tucker reasoned.

  Ryan did as instructed, and as soon as Tucker had possession of the magnum, he slid his own gun across the floor, completing the exchange. “You can pick it up now,” Tucker said as he pointed the magnum at Ryan.

  They were briefly interrupted by Fachini, who’d come upstairs to find out what was going on. “Everything all right, boss? What’s going on? What the… Who the hell is that?”

  “It’s okay, Dominic. We just recruited him into the group. He’s gonna show us his stuff in just a second. Go on back downstairs. We’ll follow in a couple of minutes,” Tucker said.

  Fachini left.

  “Let’s get on with it, Mr. O’Hara,” Tucker said.

  Ryan turned to Judd, who was begging for his life. “Please, please…”

  “Please what, you crummy little twat? I’ll bet you’d swallow a johnson if you thought you could weasel out of this fix. Wouldn’t you, you miserable little motherfucker?” Ryan snickered as he leveled the automatic at Judd’s torso.

  “NO, PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU, PLEASE. NO, NO! OH, FOR THE LOVE OF…” begged Judd as the first of twelve bullets jerked his body, throwing him violently into the side of the hot tub.

  “FOR THE LOVE OF WHOM, JONAS? FOR THE LOVE OF LENIN? I KNOW IT’S NOT CHRIST.” Ryan laughed and continued firing as blood spilled from Judd and turned the water red.

  With a blank look in his eyes, Judd gasped out his last breath of life and began sliding slowly beneath the water.

  Satisfied, Ryan turned to Tucker and asked, “Now what?”

  “Let’s trade weapons and
get out of here,” Tucker answered.

  After the exchange, Tucker inserted a new clip, chambered a round, and led the way downstairs. He motioned for Fachini and Meeker to follow. “We’re finished here,” he said as they headed out the door.

  Once outside, Tucker approached Dodge and Coleman and asked, “We’re done. Did you have any problems out here?”

  “Lutcher and Young had a little action on the other side of the house,” Coleman said.

  “What kind of action?” Tucker asked.

  “A couple and their dog came up the hill behind the house and the dog started barking. They killed the dog and secured the couple with duct tape,” Coleman explained.

  Tucker was annoyed. “Shit, this is just what we didn’t need. The rest of you stay here. I’ll go around back and try to determine what, if any, problems these people might pose for us.”

  Lutcher was the first to approach Tucker as he rounded the corner of the house. “We have a problem here, Frank.”

  “Yes, I know. I heard about them from the others.”

  Lutcher pointed toward the young couple, who were seated against the house about fifty feet away. “I was about to take care of them before they became your problem, but Floyd told me to back off and wait for you.”

  “What do you mean, you were about to take care of them, Dave? Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tucker asked. But he already knew what Lutcher meant.

  Lutcher was perplexed. He wasn’t expecting a reaction like this, especially before he’d even told Tucker what had transpired between him and Young.

  “Well, Dave, I’ll ask again. What do you mean, you were about to take care of them?” Tucker demanded.

  “He means that he wants to blow their brains out, Frank,” the reply came from Young, who had come up behind Lutcher.

  “Sterling specifically said to leave no witnesses,” Lutcher protested, “and he’s depending on us to carry out his orders.”

  “Dave, have you lost your mind? These kids can’t even see your face. They’re not a threat to us at all,” exclaimed Tucker, who was beginning to question his own judgment for having been careless enough to pick Lutcher to be on his team.