Serpentine

by Peter Parken

  He looked down at his old friend. In appearance, Tom was still Tom, despite the beard and longer hair. But he was a different Tom now in so many other ways. He was the man who had applied the Thermate and fuses to the underside of the rollercoaster track, enabling the mass murder to happen. He was also a pathetic coward and a pedophile who’d abandoned his family and fled the country. No, this wasn’t the trusted friend and partner who he’d known for over twenty years. At least, he thought he’d known him—obviously, no one really knew Tom, not even his own family.

  Tom’s hands were duct-taped together behind the back of the chair. As well, his ankles were constrained and duct tape also ran around his thighs to the underside of the chair.

  And there was a sock in his mouth.

  Carl stood as still as a statue, almost military-like, and stared at the wall. With the gun still trained on him, Ron yanked the sock out of Tom’s mouth and then kicked another chair over from the corner of the room into position beside Tom’s. “I thought you two might like to sit side by side.”

  Tom’s eyes looked like they were tearing up. “Ron, why…are you…doing this?”

  “Shut up, Tom. You make me sick.”

  Ron dropped his car keys onto an old table and swiped up a roll of duct tape. He then directed his attention to Carl. “Sit down in that chair so I can make you look like your friend here.” Ron handed his pistol to John. “Keep this trained on him while I tape him up.”

  At that instant, Carl made his move. In one swift motion, he spun around and kicked the gun out of John’s inexperienced hand. Then, with one quick flick of his wrist, a gun appeared in his hand. Ron recognized it as a Derringer, a small caliber weapon that could easily be concealed inside the sleeve of a shirt and attached to a spring release mechanism. Ron cursed himself for being so careless. He’d frisked his body and checked his ankles, but hadn’t considered the possibility of a Derringer up his sleeve.

  John dove to the floor, hands outstretched, reaching out desperately for Ron’s pistol. Too late. Carl fired at John before he had the chance to reach the gun. John yelled out as the bullet tore into him, but he continued to slither along the floor in his quest to retrieve the menacing 357 Magnum.

  Carl didn’t waste time. He swung the Derringer around in the other direction just as Ron dove behind an old desk. Then one last glance at John, who now had his hand on the Magnum.

  Out the door he went, but first he took Ron’s car keys. Ron cursed to himself—his second mistake. He’d carelessly tossed them onto the little table when he picked up the duct tape. Through the window, Ron could see Carl rushing back the way they had come, along the little dirt path towards the cars.

  Ron ran over to John and took the gun out of his hand. “Apply pressure to the wound, John! I’m going after him!”

  He raced out the door and headed up the path. Carl was fast and Ron remembered that the man had been an NFL fullback. So, of course he was fast. But Ron was fast, too. He crashed through the bushes and trees, branches scratching against his face. He slipped twice on the muddy path, falling backwards onto his ass, but just as quickly got himself back in the hunt again. As he ran, he caught a glimpse of the two shiny cars through the dense foliage. And he saw Carl, too, about five feet away from freedom.

  Carl heard him. He whirled around, dropped to his knees, and fired off a shot. Ron dove to the ground. The bullet tore into the bark of a tree only a foot or so away from Ron’s head.

  But that was two shots. Ron knew that Carl’s gun was now empty. Those cute little Derringers were double-barreled and after those two barrels were used, that was it. It would take him too long to reload.

  Ron crawled up from the mud and put on a burst of speed. Carl had his back turned and was now fiddling with the key fob. Ron ran faster than he’d ever run in his life. The man could not get away. They’d never find out what was going on without him and they probably wouldn’t get another chance at him.

  As Ron came within ten feet of the car, he saw that Carl was now in the driver’s seat and he heard the engine start up. At the very instant it started to move, Ron did a swan dive onto the hood and grabbed onto the windshield wiper arms. Carl glared at him through the windshield and began swerving the car violently back and forth. Then it sped up, kicking up mud along the makeshift road. Ron held on for dear life, as his body swung around in motion with the car. He wanted to reach for his gun, but he didn’t dare let go.

  Suddenly, the car lost its traction and slid off the road. It skidded sideways along a patch of mud, then quickly straightened itself out again. All of a sudden, the car steered to the left, seemingly taking direct aim into the forest thickness.

  The impact was unexpected. The windshield wiper arms broke off in Ron’s hands as he slid backwards off the hood of the car. Carl had deliberately slammed them into a tree.

  Ron was lying face down in the mud and was aware of the car spinning its wheels, trying desperately to back off the tree. Only the front right fender had been crunched, so the car was still driveable.

  As the car labored to reverse itself in the thick sludge, Ron staggered to his feet and wiped the mud out of his eyes. He pulled the big Magnum out of his waistband, took aim at the passenger side of the front windshield and pulled the trigger. The windshield shattered instantly and Carl’s shocked face could be seen clearly, no longer disguised by tinted glass.

  Ron walked up to the car, keeping the gun pointed at Carl’s head. He yanked open the door and Carl thrust his hands in the air.

  “Get out and start walking. You know the way.”

  *****

  The two prisoners were sitting quietly, duct-taped to their chairs, while Ron attended to John’s wound. The bullet had only grazed him in the side and he hadn’t lost too much blood. The duct tape came in handy, keeping the pressure on until John could bandage it up properly back at home.

  John put his jacket back on as if nothing had happened and pointed to a case sitting in the corner of the room. “Is that the stuff I asked for?”

  Ron nodded. “Yep. I left it when I brought Tom here. What do you want to do with it?”

  “Not yet. We’ll leave that for a bit.”

  John walked up to Carl and knelt down in front of him. “Tell us about Operation Backwash.”

  Silence.

  Without any warning John reared his fist back and smashed it forward into Carl’s face. Ron could hear the bones of the killer’s nose crunching from way back where he was standing. Blood started streaming down Carl’s mouth and chin.

  John continued, “Your goons killed my wife. And then you sent them after Shelby and me. In case you were wondering where they disappeared to, I buried them in my backyard.”

  Ron noticed Tom cringe and he thought he could see some kind of reaction in Carl’s face, but he wasn’t sure. The man was one cool customer.

  “You two worked together.” John nodded in Tom’s direction. “I’m guessing you blackmailed him about his seedy little double life. Am I right?”

  Carl didn’t move, but Tom nodded agreeably.

  John turned his attention to Tom. “Do you know what Operation Backwash is?”

  “No…my role was limited. I’ve never even saw this guy until today.”

  John didn’t believe a word. “Your role was limited, huh? You’re absolutely useless to me.”

  Tom opened his mouth to say something else, but John raised his hand. “Don’t say anything else. You’re more pathetic than this character.”

  John thrust his hand up to Carl’s throat and began pushing in his Adam’s apple. “I’ll ask you one more time. What is Operation Backwash?”

  Silence again, except for a choking sound coming from his throat. The man was not going to say a thing.

  John stood up and walked over to the corner where the case was standing. He brought it back and set it down on the floor in front of the two killers. Ron walked over and knelt down beside him; pulled a tiny key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and flipped the case
open.

  He took out a small plastic bottle, a brush, two magnesium fuses, and a tiny remote control unit.

  John pulled a knife out of a sheath in his waistband and then with several expert swipes, turned Carl’s and Tom’s shirts into shards. He ripped the shredded clothing away from their bodies until they were naked from the waist up.

  “One thing you probably know, Masterson, is that Thermate burns through pretty much everything, not just metal.”

  John opened the bottle and calmly began brushing the sticky substance onto Carl’s bare abdomen. He drew a complete circle around the man’s midsection, from front to back. A sinister ring. Then he repeated the process with Tom.

  Ron thought that John seemed almost robotic—like he was programmed. But he was pretty sure that this little bit of theater was going to get some answers. He reached into the case and took out the fuses. He handed them to John while he cut two strips of duct tape. John stuck one fuse up against the painted-on Thermate, right near Carl’s belly button. Ron applied the tape, and then they turned their attention to Tom.

  “What…what are you guys…doing? Why?”

  Ron glared into the eyes of his old friend. “You, of all people, know the destructive power of Thermate. You used it to heartlessly kill all those innocent people. And you even had one of our own engineers killed, too, cruelly set up to be your patsy. Do you sleep at night? So, because you’re a pervert who didn’t want to get found out, more than two dozen people had to die, Tom? Is that how simple the equation was for you?”

  Tom just lowered his head.

  They finished their artistry around Tom’s abdomen, then stood back and admired their work.

  John picked up the remote control. “Okay, Carl—you know how this will work. It’s only fitting justice that you guys are now painted with the same substance that you used to commit mass murder. So, you tell us what we want to know or I press this remote. I don’t have to describe what that sensation is going to feel like for you, do I?”

  Carl sighed with resignation—the first sound out of his mouth since they’d captured him. “Okay, you win. I’ll tell you. Operation Backwash is a plan to steal water from Canada. An underground tunnel has been built from the Illinois River to Lake Erie. It will punch through in a couple of days. Water will then divert through the tunnel to the Illinois River and on from there to the Mississippi. And also pour down into the High Plains aquifer.”

  Ron’s lips started to move, but no sound came out. Then he found the words. “You killed all those people to keep that secret?”

  “We needed to silence Alexei Dragunov. He became a huge liability to us. But it had to look like an accident. And the tunnel is a secret; it has to stay that way for the foreseeable future, for obvious reasons.”

  John took a step towards Carl. “So, you’re going to steal from our neighbor, one of our closest allies? Is it your intention to make every single country in the world hate us? Is that the goal of you guys? That’s what it’s coming to, you know.”

  “America is drying up. We need that water, much more than Canada does.”

  Ron just shook his head in dismay. “No, there’s more to this than just theft. I don’t get it. Tell us the rest. Now!”

  Carl just stared at him with a cold, blank look in his eyes.

  John thrust the remote forward, pointing it at Carl’s chest. “I don’t buy it either. You’d better tell us something else right now! I’ll count to three. One…Two…”

  Carl wiggled in his chair, rocking the legs. His face was one of pure panic. “No! Stop! Yes, there’s more! We’re faking a terrorist attack on the United States. A swarm of insect-bots will be launched from the Canadian side of the border, aimed at the western shores of Lake Michigan. It’s actually a brilliant plan. They’re laced with hydrogen cyanide and it will look like terrorists tried to poison the water supply. We’ll blame it on a terrorist cell in Canada, and blame the Canadians for their poor security against terrorism. This will justify our moving troops up to the Canadian border and protecting the Great Lakes system. As I said, it’s brilliant.”

  John waved the remote in the air. “Christ Almighty! You call this ‘brilliant’? Just how many are going to die from this deception? Tell us! How many innocent Americans are going to be poisoned to death?”

  Carl swallowed hard. “A few thousand in Milwaukee and Green Bay. Just enough to get Americans and the rest of the world outraged, and supportive of our troop movement.”

  Even Tom looked shocked. He turned his head towards Carl. “Are you mad?”

  Carl scowled. “I’m a patriot. And I, along with many others, are prepared to make tough decisions to protect the United States of America. So, no, I’m not mad—I’m a hero. A future without water is not a pretty one.”

  Ron laughed. “That’s the same thing you clowns said about oil. And when that became a crisis you just went out and took what you needed from other countries. Always the same pattern with you guys—the military option, fake wars, and fake terrorist attacks. And now, once again, you’re going to kill our own people to justify your twisted adventures.”

  “I’ve told you what you wanted to know. So, it’s out in the open. Do what you have to do. It’s going to happen regardless. Now, let me go. I don’t care what you do with this pervert beside me, but let me go. I’ve cooperated with you.”

  Ron turned toward John, a question in his eyes. At that same instant, he saw a blur of movement. John’s hand swooped down and yanked the Magnum out of Ron’s waistband. Then he backed up and pointed the gun at Ron’s chest.

  In as calm a voice as he could muster, Ron asked, “John…what…are you doing?”

  John’s face was devoid of expression. His eyes were steady and his gun hand was unwavering. “I don’t want to shoot you, Ron. That’s the last thing I want to do. But I will if you don’t get out of here now. Get in your car, drive back to Alexandria, and send out the alarm. Tell everyone who needs to know—but most of all, tell the officials in Green Bay and Milwaukee. Do it, before it’s too late. There’s another 911 about to happen and this one will probably be even more deadly.”

  Ron wasn’t sure what to do. He was afraid of what John was planning, but he also knew in his gut that what his friend was intending to do was indeed the right thing. Gruesome and cruel, but right.

  Part of him wanted to talk him out of it, but the other part, the soldier in him, knew that it had to be done. Still, it horrified him and he’d been a Navy Seal. It took a lot to horrify him. And he knew that by threatening him with the gun, John was protecting him—better that he not know or be a part of what was about to happen. John wanted Ron left clean. As for John, he didn’t care because he was dying anyway.

  And from the look in John’s eyes, Ron was convinced beyond a doubt that he would indeed shoot him if he tried to stop him. Not shoot to kill though—just enough to put him down. He knew John was a good man; he wouldn’t kill one of the good guys. And, as far as Ron was concerned, he wasn’t going to take a bullet for the two scum sitting against the wall.

  He made his decision. Ron backed up towards the door. He made the ‘sign of the cross’ and whispered, “God have mercy on you, John.”

  Then he turned around and ran out the door towards the relative sanity of his car.

  *****

  John Fletcher waited until he saw the headlights of Ron’s car weaving their way through the forest. Then he turned and faced his captives.

  “Both of you are going to pay for what you did. All those innocent people who died. It’s hard to imagine that anything would justify that. But you did justify it, Masterson, for reasons of national security and power. And you, Tom, just to save your sorry ass from humiliation.

  “Once again, Masterson, you and other psychopaths just like you, will lie to the people of the world to get them to support your twisted causes. You and your predecessors did it with TWA 800; again with 911; you did it with the Gulf of Tonkin as a prelude to Viet Nam; you did it with JFK; you spread your
lies about the Ukraine, Syria, Iraq, Libya and Iran, and have demonized most of the other Middle Eastern countries. Yet, you and your types still can’t seem to understand why we’re so universally hated.

  “And then you made it personal. You killed my wife, and you tried to kill Shelby, then tried to kill me. I feel like just ripping your face off with my bare hands, but I don’t want your slimy skin on my fingers.”

  Tom yelled. “Hey, I didn’t even know what it was all about! I didn’t have a part in any of this Backwash thing! I was just following orders!”

  John glared at him. “That makes you even more pathetic.”

  Carl was squirming in his chair. John could tell he was trying desperately to loosen the tape on his wrists and ankles.

  Then he shouted out, “I can make you a rich man! What will it take? Just tell me!”

  John laughed. “I think you’ve forgotten that I’m dying. And even if I wasn’t, you couldn’t buy me.”

  “I told you what you wanted to know! We had a deal!”

  John pointed the remote. “We had no such deal. And even if we did, I’d break it. I guess I’ll be seeing both of you in hell.”

  They yelled out in unison. “No!”

  John pressed the button. Instantly, on both men, a ring of fire began swirling around their abdomens. First it was just sparks that encircled them. But the sparks quickly turned to full blown flames, piercing into their mid-sections. Both of them twitched violently in their chairs and screamed at the top of their lungs as the flames embraced them. They knew what was happening, but for some macabre reason they forced themselves to look down, watching in horror as the flames quickly sliced their bodies in half.

  It didn’t take long. John, being a metallurgical engineer, knew how fast Thermate worked. The ring of fire expanded fast. First, their bodies were literally sliced in half by the fast burning ring. Then the flames spread outwards and burned each half beyond recognition.

  John watched in cold detachment, just long enough until they no longer resembled human beings. Because that’s how he wanted to remember them.