Release the Dogs of War

by Michael Anderle

  Bethany Anne walked over to Marcus and leaned into him, “Smartphone cameras?”

  Marcus grunted with a smile and said, “Not a chance.”

  She nodded her appreciation and turned back to the team, “Hey, is there anyone who would like to make a thousand bucks this morning?” Two of the guys who had worked on the cars threw their hands up in the air. “Great! We have an SUV outside and need it to be driven back to our home in Key Biscayne.” This caused Darryl, William, and Marcus to turn to her, “We have six bodies, and six seats guys. You think I wouldn’t take you all with us?”

  Darryl looked over to John, “You ass!” John just chuckled and turned around to face the opposite way.

  Then, it was time for Mark to get busy with his camera and it was magic. The light streaming off of her light skin against the beautiful blood red color of the Ferrari’s was going to get him engagements from around the world if he was willing to travel from Southern California again.

  >>I’m picking up chatter that there is an APB request to stop you in the SUV.<<

  Why?

  >>Request to find out your whereabouts during the disappearance of Sean Truitt.<<

  That ass?

  >>Yes.<<

  What do they think?

  >>I have no data of any real evidence, it is just a request to apprehend.<<

  Well…shit. I’d be more annoyed, but I did kill him. Bethany Anne mused as she winked at the camera.

  No remorse?

  Hell no, TOM. When have you known me to be bothered with the death of the deserving?

  I haven’t, but they usually don’t result in APBs on you.

  Politics, probably. Oh well, Let’s get this done. Where are they?

  >>Down on the 913.<<

  Well, that would have worked ok for them about an hour ago. Tell you what, let’s do this and have some fun.

  “Mark?” she interrupted his shot.

  “Yes?” he asked, not putting down his camera as he worked.

  “You want some shots that will rock the world?” She asked.

  “You mean more shots? Because I’m pretty sure I have some outstanding ones already.” His voice was muffled behind his camera.

  “I mean pictures never before occurring outside of Photoshop,” she told him.

  This time, Mark put down his camera and looked back at her as he considered what he knew, “Where do I need to set up?”

  “Back seat of the SUV as it goes back to our home in Key Biscayne. You will have to be quick, but if you do it right, these shots will be in on the front page of papers in the morning.”

  “No one hurt?”

  “Nope,” she agreed.

  “When?” He asked.

  She turned to Sheldon, “Ready for your video?” He nodded and after she gave him an enthusiastic recommendation video, she stepped back to her car and grabbed the keys. Her guys were already in their cars, with their driver windows down as she slipped into hers.

  John.

  Yes?

  How long has the SUV been gone?

  Maybe two minutes, why?

  They are going to be stopped on the 913 causeway to apprehend me. We are going to be right behind them.

  You aren’t stopping, are you?

  No, but I want them to point to our cars before we pass them by.

  Bethany Anne, there are only two lanes on the road, what if they block the causeway?

  That’s what I’m counting on, John.

  Where are we going?

  Back to Colorado, I guess. I need to store these in something to take them to Australia. Too hard to place them on the Ad Aeternitatem and I’m not having them suffer the wind buffeting all the way to the other side.

  You good with this?

  I’m going to have to deal with these feelings at some time.

  I got your back, Bethany Anne.

  And I got yours, Mr. Grimes.

  Thirty minutes later, two police vehicles pulled out on the causeway to stop a dark tinted, black SUV with personalized TQB license plates. The vehicle used to spot their SUV had followed them onto the bridge and blocked the SUV from driving backwards.

  Four officers quickly stepped out of their cars and stepped over to pull the doors open and asked everyone to step out. Including the photographer who had his camera around his neck. The police officers were in the middle of questioning the three men when the roar of supercars could be heard coming their way. Two of the men pointed to the three identical F12Berlinettas screaming towards them when a hundred and fifty feet away they all took to the air and turned as if on invisible roller coaster rails and headed back towards land…across the water.

  Well, one thing was right. Mark’s pictures were seen all over the world the next morning. By the time Bethany Anne and her team needed to land, her legal counsel, Jakob Yadav had the APB already rescinded, and more than one counter-suite fired off in her defense.

  Not that it mattered, while the three Ferrari’s might be in residence at TBQ headquarters in Colorado, the six people had already left.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Washington D.C., USA

  The blond man pulled off his sunglasses as he stepped through the door into the little Italian restaurant. He nodded to the hostess and then told her he was “going to the back rooms”. He walked past the fifteen or so tables and half a dozen cozy booths around the main room as he made his way to the rear of the restaurant.

  He came to the main hallway and stepped past the two doors that went to the restrooms and continued to the last door on the right and opened it to step through. There were two doors on each side of the twenty-foot hallway. He knocked on the first door to the right, and when he heard the lock click, he stepped into the room.

  Inside was a nicely appointed meeting area with a couch and two chairs, a coffee table, bar, and a kitchen table for six in the back where one man waited. He stepped past the coffee table to pull out a chair, “Hey Johann, we are claiming TATP — triacetone triperoxide.”

  Johann reached across the table, “Damon, damned glad to talk. Do you want anything different? I ordered tea, but I can get anything.”

  “No,” Damon replied as he pulled off his sports coat to place it over the chair next to him. “You ordered the cheese manicotti, right?”

  “Yes, of course. That was the best dish we had last time,” Johann agreed. “Even better than the lasagna which I didn’t think possible. I’d marry the sauce if I could.”

  “If I could take it to bed, then it would be a match in heaven,” Damon continued, “but, let’s get back to talking about Colorado.”

  “Yes, isn’t TATP the shit the terrorists used in France?” Johann asked as he pulled a piece of roll and some butter, “At least that’s what I remember.”

  Damon reached across to snag Johann’s bread when he went to put down his knife and wipe his hands on his napkin, “Delicious!” He grinned as he chewed his bite.

  “Ass!” Johann said before reaching for another roll, “For that, I’m taking the meal cost out of your consulting fee.”

  “Done.” Damon agreed, “Whatever your guys did to get me out of that hot water back in Georgia and pulled into this cush assignment here was fantastic. I thought the idea that real friends help you bury the bodies was just a funny joke.” He reached for his tea and took a sip, “God, you even remembered to tell them I like it sweet.”

  “Sweet?” Johann chuckled, “You and your sister use half the sugar at the table to sweeten your teas. That was what, our first study group we had back before finals our freshman year?”

  “One for all…” Damon smiled.

  “And all for us!” Johann replied as he reached across the table to bump fists with his college friend. “I’d like to claim it was a bitch to accomplish, and you owe me your first born, but for two issues” he said.

  “What are those?” Damon asked.

  “I hate kids.” Johann stated as Damon started chuckling, “And the female in the other car was so high that the discussion wit
h the judge was easy. The lawyer showed how fucked up on cocaine she was, and it became a moot point. Judge saw it our way and tossed it. Then, one of the main leads pulled strings, talked with a friend a little higher in your organization and you became the appointed contact.”

  “I’m the cut-out if it all goes to hell?” Damon considered.

  Johann picked up his drink to clink with Damon’s, “That’s our assignment, my man. Until we figure out how to overthrow our masters and take their places we ride the risk,” he spoke with a shrug.

  “The Sith have nothing on us,” Damon mused.

  “Fucking pussies, those two.” Johann agreed as he switched voices to mimic an old person, “Always two, there must be. A master and an apprentice.” He switched back to his voice, “now that we have you in the right place in the FBI, we can start our efforts to figure out the blackmail material on those above you. If that shithead Sean Truitt hadn’t gotten himself killed, I would have had enough to own his fucking ass.”

  Johann allowed himself a moment to feel the frustration of that situation. He had been so close when that ass had allowed his plane to bring in that backpack nuke. Then, he got back on track, “How is blaming the explosion on TATP going?”

  There was a small knock on the door with a female’s voice saying, “Food sirs.”

  Johann reached over to push the button that released the magnetic lock on the door, and it opened to reveal an attractive brunette in a red and white blouse and black mini-skirt bringing in a cart. It took only a moment for her to refresh the drinks, the bread and lay out the food before retreating behind the closed door.

  Damon picked up their conversation, “Really well. We were able to blame the size of the explosion and the plume on the walls in the canyon. Since the canyon layout did screw up the typical explosion and the explosion was so small, it wasn’t a big deal. We still have it completely blocked off as domestic terrorism against TQB. We are all poor bastards about someone attacking such a valuable company, and how powerful but hard to handle TATP is. They had a lot, but there is a reason the terrorists nickname it the mother of Satan and it got away from them to blow so close to the base.”

  “You would think the Chinese or Russians would mention something,” Johann mused.

  “I thought you guys might be involved in that?” Damon asked as he started on his second manicotti.

  “Not us, I think someone in one of the black organizations might be doing something. Keeping the information that we had even such a tiny nuke explode inside the U.S. out of the regular news. That shit would scare the sheep all over the place.” Johann answered.

  “Well, somebody is putting a hard lock on the news. Fucking people in Denver would shit a brick if they knew anything nuke went off, no matter how small it was.” Damon said.

  “Probably,” Johann agreed. “We are already having to deal with the whole sympathy problems with TQB being attacked by domestic terrorists using the TATP. If I can, I’m going to switch that to some new technology TQB has that actually exploded, but I’ll let this die down, first. So, since the terrorists blew themselves up, the worst we feared didn’t come to pass.”

  “What happened to the merc bodies?” Damon asked.

  “Mostly all gone. What wasn’t blown up was spirited away before any first responders arrived as near as we can tell. I’m not sure why TQB doesn’t want stuff known, but they only left a handful of bodies shot outside to discuss with the police. It could be because their weapons made fucking hamburger of some of those guys. Plus, we heard something about a bear at the very end. I’m sure Stephanie Lee isn’t sharing everything, but Phillip from South America had extra microphones listening, and he picked most of it up.”

  Johann looked up from eating and used his fork to point, “I can tell you one thing, those signs that talk about wolves that the newscasters mentioned are right. There were certainly wolves attacking, and we have no idea what the fuck happened there before we lost communications.”

  Johann went back to eating, “The weirdest fucking shit is on those recordings,” he muttered. Half to Damon, half to himself.

  QBS Polarus - Mid-Atlantic Ocean

  Stephen walked into the office which Barnabas was using as his judge's chamber. While the massive amount of data Bethany Anne’s team was throwing at him was more than enough to assuage his curiosity, he had never felt this way in the last one hundred and fifty-two years.

  He wanted a vacation.

  He pulled the top manila-folder and took a look at the name, “Clarissa Bernier, CEO.” He opened the folder, and it was now in the agreed upon fashion. There was one page with her typical information of name, age, location, and a two paragraph background and the requested punishment. It was a type of joke now between Barnabas and Bethany Anne. No matter the requested punishment, she would strike it out and write “DEATH” and put a happy face on, with fangs.

  It let him know that she was not letting up on her desire to make a lot of people pay for Michael’s death.

  The team had already executed six individuals across the world in the last three months. Sean Truitt was just the first one.

  Stephen interrupted him, “You look tired,” he spoke as he took a seat in one of the two blue chairs facing Barnabas’s desk.

  Barnabas leaned back, keeping the folder open, “Is she serious?” He pointed to the document, “Even ADAM, using our agreed punishment matrix is calling for this lady to be punished financially.” He closed the folder, “She walks the line towards Michael all the time, brother.”

  “No, I think what she does is point out to you that your desire to be thorough when the data is all there and available is silly. You want to be lenient, and she is offsetting it with requesting death.” Stephen shrugged, “How many times do you fail to arrive at the same conclusion and punishment as what is suggested in the folder?”

  Barnabas thought about it, “Twice. Both went to death when new information was found in addition to what they had been a part of that got Michael killed.”

  “So, they weren’t guiltless, then?” Stephen pressed.

  “Hardly,” Barnabas agreed, “I’ve read so many of these stories, that I think it would have been better to stay in my madness.”

  Stephen pursed his lips, “You know, you’ve never explained that experience to me.”

  Barnabas weighed the folder with the hundred sheets of paper in it and tossed it to the side of his desk so he could place his elbows on the top and clasp his hands. “That’s because I’m not proud of that time, Stephen.” He looked out the small window across the water, “I was insane for six months and six days.” He turned back, “A woman I had loved had been taken from me…” He sighed, “and I broke.”

  He leaned back and put his hands over his eyes, “Stephen, I completely robbed the world of over three thousand souls in the space of that short time between satiating my anger and sleeping. I researched my disgrace some years later. I destroyed fifty families that have been erased from the earth. None of their lines exists because they lived in the area where I lost my mind. The only reason I awoke was I had apparently been tracking something and got caught by a log that took me downriver and over some falls. Then, I mentally awakened as the sun started burning my skin. I needed my mental faculties to survive.”

  “That’s when everything became a question to you?” Stephen asked.

  “Yes. If intellect could pull me out of the Time of Disgrace, then I would make it my focus.” Barnabas agreed.

  “Are you fighting Bethany Anne or your memories brother?” Stephen asked.

  “Now... now I’m not so sure.” He sighed. “I have to agree that she did not destroy everything in a violent rage as I expected she would.” He crossed his arms and looked back to Stephen, “Is this where you tell me ‘I told you so’?”

  “For what?” Stephen replied, “for saying I trusted Bethany Anne?” He shook his head, “No. I know her well enough to know she is playing the long game, Barnabas. She is a woman, and they can all hold
on to anger and release that years later. She is showing you respect, far more than she needs to, in my opinion.”

  “Yes, I get that now.” Barnabas replied, “We’ve cleared maybe twenty names. Did you know,” he asked, “that she had ADAM not only ruin one of the men financially, but she also ended up owning his company in the process? Then, she found malfeasance in his books and she had the company bring about a lawsuit, and he is now in prison?”