The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara
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“Can you give me the names of the detectives, Dan?”
“Yes. They’re Detectives Dirk Mueller and Harry Hanratty. But like I explained, they’re not letting out any information and the department spokesman, McDougall, is not offering any more information than we already have.”
Ryan turned off the TV and was about to leave when Markowitz walked into the room.
“Leaving without so much as an adios, eh, O’Hara?”
“Naw, nothing like that. I just didn’t want to bother anyone this early in the morning. Besides, I thought we said our good-byes last night.”
“Yeah, well, I guess we did. Have a good trip and stay safe. I hope we’ll cross paths again. Remember, you’ve got a place in our organization if and when you’re ready to join us.”
“Thanks, Sterling. I’ll keep in touch and you’ll be the first to know when I make my decision.” The two men shook hands.
Ryan was soon out the door and heading for Fort Campbell, satisfied that he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do and more. He was pleased that authorities would be looking everywhere but in his direction for what was shaping up to be a media circus with the White House as one of its three rings. Yes, indeed, things couldn’t have worked out better.
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51
Five hours and a hundred and seventy miles later, Ryan rolled past the front gate of Fort Campbell, Kentucky, the massive installation shared by the 101st Airborne Division, the Fifth Special Forces, and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment.
“Home at last,” he thought as he drove past the Mann Theater, Cole Field, and the Estep Gymnasium and finally out to the periphery of the reservation where the Special Forces compound was located in what had been the post stockade decades earlier.
A sudden peace came over him and he felt secure knowing that he would soon be back among his warrior family, sharing the brotherhood and camaraderie that only men who have trained, fought, and suffered together know and appreciate. He looked forward to being medically cleared so that he could once again jump from big iron birds and practice his combat skills in the green and forested boondocks of this vast reservation located on the Tennessee-Kentucky border.
Ryan parked his car and walked into the orderly room. He found the team medic, Staff Sergeant Jerome Segelke, working on the computer, reviewing the medical status of his fellow operators.
“Hey, shithead, how long you been riding a desk?” Ryan yelled as he came up behind the medic.
Segelke jumped and then smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the wind blew into my little sanctuary. It’s about time you got back, you old punkass son of a bitch. We’ve been working our tails off while you’ve been lounging around on your lazy convalescing butt, enjoying life. How the hell have you been?”
“Aw, hell, Jerome, I’ve been all right. A little bored though. Sitting around drinking beer and banging broads is fun and all, but I’m a physical mess and need to get some discipline back into my life. I’m all rested up and rarin’ to get back into shape and hone my kill skills. Have to get cleared first, though.”
“I’d like to be able to accommodate you on that, killer, but you’re gonna have to get cleared by the surgeons. I’ll set up an appointment for you ASAP so you can get back into circulation.”
“Thanks, buddy. I’d appreciate that.”
“No problemo, amigo.”
“Where are the rest of the guys? The place looks like a ghost town out there with no one around.”
“They’re out in the boonies training up for our next deployment.”
“Any idea when that’s coming up?”
“No telling. Everything’s hush-hush right now. All I know is that it’ll be somewhere in the Middle East or maybe Africa. No one’s really saying.”
“Well, no barfing buzzard shit. I would have never guessed we’d be going into that part of the world,” Ryan mused sarcastically.
“Yeah, well, we may not be if this thing up in Washington gets any more heated up than it already is.”
“What thing?”
“Shit, man, you have been out of circulation. You must have had your head up your fourth point of contract and your ears plugged while you’ve been gone. Haven’t you heard about all the murders taking place throughout the country?”
“Murders? No. What murders?”
“It’s been all over the news. Scores of left-wing assholes being bumped off, blown up, and blown away by what appears to be a group of assassins. Reports are circulating around that the hits may have been ordered from the White House.”
“No kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding. They’re already calling it ‘Murdergate’ and there’s talk of a Justice Department probe.”
“Sounds bad.”
“Yeah, and if the president or any of his people are involved, there’s a good chance we’ll be getting a new commander in chief sooner than expected, which may disrupt our deployment and any others that are being planned.”
“I’d hate to see our deployment postponed. On the other hand, if that happens as a result of that fraud in the Oval Office having his communist ass kicked off the throne, it might be a small price to pay,” Ryan said.
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Not to change the subject, Jerome, but I think I’ll head over to the team room and clean up. What say you we go into Clarksville tonight and have a few horns?”
“Yeah, sure. That sounds like a good idea.”
“Good. I’ll swing by and pick you up around 1800 hours.”
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Ryan left Segelke and walked across the company area to the shack that served as the team room. Finding that he had the room to himself, he went to his locker and took a large framed photograph from the shelf.
Tears filled his eyes as he gazed at the burly uniformed cop holding a small redheaded boy. The picture had been taken on Ryan’s fourth birthday. His grandpa had just come home from work with a cap gun and badge that he’d picked up for Ryan at the toy store.
After dusting off the photo, he placed it on the bench and reached back into his locker to retrieve a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a glass.
Pouring himself a double shot, he picked up the photo, looked at the smiling face of his grandpa and, as he raised his glass in salute, exclaimed, “You may now rest in the gold of peace, Grandpa, for I have avenged you with the iron of war.”
Ryan downed the drink and was satisfied with the knowledge that the delayed justice delivered on behalf of his beloved grandpa, Mortimer Dermott O’Hara, had finally been achieved.
Table of Contents
Cover
Titlepage
Copyright
Contents
Part 1: The Delgadillos
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part 2: Sal
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part 3: Pablo
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part 4: Sedona
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 5: Finnegan
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Part 6: Judd
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
&
nbsp; Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Part 7: Fallout
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52