Black Ops Bundle: Volume One

by Allan Leverone

  Chapter Seventy

  "Who the hell are you?" David Kemiss said, as he squinted into the darkness towards the darkly-clad figure holding the pistol to his head.

  "By now, Senator, I would've thought we were good enough friends for you to recognize me," Declan said, as he stepped out of the shadows, a black balaclava rolled up onto his forehead in order to reveal his face. "My name's Declan McIver and we've been doing a little dance of sorts. It's my turn to lead."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Declan could tell by the slight narrowing of Kemiss' eyes as he spoke that the man knew exactly who he was and why he was there. He was prepared for all of the standard denials and the attempts at convincing him that he had the wrong man, but he knew otherwise. Everything about Kemiss set bells ringing through his subconscious like fire alarms in a public library. Finally, after numerous attempts on his life, he had found the man who had conspired with Ruslan Baktayev to murder Abaddon Kafni and commit an act of terror against his own country. Now all he had to do was get him to admit it.

  "Save it, Senator," Declan said, as he stepped closer and grabbed Kemiss by the shoulder, pushing him towards the door. "It's time for a bit of schooling in how to tell the truth."

  "You won't get anything—"

  Okan Osman, dressed in the same black attire as Declan and with his balaclava pulled over his face, stepped in front of Kemiss as he stumbled forward from Declan's push. Catching the man in the stomach with his closed fist Osman said, "That's for the children of Abaddon Kafni," as the senator doubled over and gasped for air.

  "Everything is set up," Osman said, as he kept Kemiss from falling to the floor in pain.

  Declan nodded. "Let's show Mr. And Mrs. Kemiss a bit of Irish hospitality, shall we?"

  Osman stood Kemiss up and led him away as Declan returned to the living room and lifted Mary Ellen Kemiss from the sofa by the bindings around her wrists. The woman made muffled pleas through the duct tape covering her mouth as he pushed her into the foyer and past the stairwell after Osman and her husband.

  Osman stopped briefly and pulled open a door at the back of the mansion's luxurious kitchen. As the door swung open, Declan felt a blast of heat hit his face and heard a monstrous roar. A dim orange glow came from the darkened room beyond and he swallowed hard, the idea of what he was about to do piercing through his conscience like a splinter of glass.

  Osman marched Kemiss into the garage as Declan followed with his wife, pushing her down into a lawn chair positioned just inside the room before closing the kitchen door behind them and locking it. The temperature inside the three car garage was sweltering and immediately sweat formed on Declan's forehead. He turned away from Mary Ellen Kemiss towards her husband, whom Osman had placed in another lawn chair in front of a makeshift spotlight that shone brightly against the garage door. Seated on his hands, which Osman had secured behind his back, David Kemiss wriggled uncomfortably in the chair as he looked around his unrecognizable garage, clam shell sweat stains forming under his arms. Standing at the man's left shoulder, Declan followed his gaze as he laid eyes on the third masked man in the room who was bent down and holding a fireplace poker in front of a roaring 30,000 BTU propane tank heater that was the source of the room's temperature and of the nearly deafening noise. The end of the poker was beginning to glow red as Altair Nazari turned it slowly in his hands, ensuring the surface was evenly heated.

  Next Kemiss moved his head slightly towards a large black tarp hanging from the ceiling and concealing part of the garage from view. "So you're going to torture me?" he breathed, as sweat rolled down his forehead. "I can cope with torture."

  Declan stepped into his line of sight shaking his head and said, "No, Senator. I don't think you can. I've done a bit of research on you and I'm pretty sure the closest thing you've ever experienced compared to what you're about to is burning your mouth on your morning cappuccino, and while that hurts, it's nothing compared to a red hot poker pushed against the inside of your leg. Do you know what happens to human flesh at 1500 degrees?"

  Kemiss swallowed hard and tried to wet his dry lips with his tongue. "The American government doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

  The idea that Kemiss would invoke the name of America and attempt to align himself with the United States filled Declan with rage. Was there no end to the kind of depravity that men like him were capable of? Could they not just realize they were caught and admit their guilt? It wasn't like the man could claim ignorance. Hurting innocent people, especially children, was wrong no matter what country you were from and what language you spoke.

  "Oh, I know," Declan said, doing his best to keep his temper in check. "But I'm not interested in negotiating and you're not the American government. We both know who's been doing the terrorizing in this case. Why did you kill Abaddon Kafni?"

  "I didn't. You did. After the bomb you planted at the Barton Center failed to do the job."

  "That's a very well-rehearsed story, Senator. I have to admit, I'm a little impressed with the way you've gone about constructing it,'" Declan said, as he turned around and pulled a tarp-covered steel service cart over to where Kemiss was seated. "Unfortunately you picked the wrong person to set up. Do you know what happens when you strike the top of the human kneecap with a claw hammer?" He pulled back the tarp to reveal a variety of tools, including a hickory handled claw hammer. "If you strike just the right spot at just the right speed, the claw breaks the skin and lodges behind the kneecap. Then you just push up on the handle and pry the patella out like a crooked nail. It works even better if you make a small incision first." Declan popped open the blade on a folding knife he withdrew from his pocket.

  Sweat rolled off Kemiss' forehead and although he did his best to blink it away, it stung his eyes, causing tears to form in the corners. He opened and closed his mouth several times, licking his lips, his discomfort obvious.

  Declan continued as he picked up a bottle of water from the service cart and took a sip, "You and Castellano seemed so interested in my past activities with the IRA that I thought I'd give you a little demonstration of what the Provos did to people who'd turned on their own team, like you've done." He slowly poured the water on the ground at Kemiss' feet and picked up a small extension cord from the service cart, holding its end up and twisting it around in his hand before slicing one end off with the folding knife.

  "You see, the IRA didn't take kindly to touts. Informers, if you'd prefer. They got really grumpy when they found out someone was consorting with the enemy. They would schedule a session with an internal security unit called 'the Nutting Squad' and, if you were smart, you'd present yourself at the right place and time, answer their questions honestly and put the matter behind you. That's if you weren't guilty. If you were guilty, well, the quicker you told the truth, the better, because these men liked to inflict pain. They really got off on it and you don't want to know the outcome of a long, drawn out interrogation, Senator."

  Declan stopped talking and let his words sink in. He didn't like talking about the kinds of things the IRA did to people that were thought to have been informers. The IRA's brand of justice was anything but evenly applied and often times the torture began before a word was even spoken. He didn't have any direct knowledge of how the Internal Security Unit operated, but word got around. Many times the victims had turned out to be completely innocent and even with the ones who made confessions, their guilt was questionable. Under such appalling circumstances people would admit to anything just to stop the pain. In the case of the Nutting Squad, the hostility ceased with a visit from a priest and a bullet in the head.

  Declan did his best to push the thoughts of dumped bodies and grief-stricken wives and children from his head. They were memories from a chapter in his life that he would do anything to rewrite and while he had never directly caused such pain or been involved with the men who had, he was guilty by association. The act of torturing another human being was atrocious to him and certainly not something h
e condoned or thought could ever be useful. It was the psychological effect of the possibility that did the trick most often and that was the linchpin of his plan tonight. If he allowed Kemiss to see through it, then the game they were playing would be at an end and Declan would lose.

  "Why did you kill Abaddon Kafni and why are you conspiring with Baktayev to attack your own country?"

  "You're insane," Kemiss said, as he closed his eyes tightly and screwed up his face. "You're an animal."

  Declan could tell Kemiss was just about at the point where the grand finale he had planned would have the desired effect. "An insane animal? Good thought, Senator. I'm sure you know all about insane animals and what they do to the kind of innocent people you've conspired with them to attack. The Chechen militants like Baktayev? They're insane animals and he's the leader of the pack."

  "I don't know any Ruslan Baktayev!" Kemiss spat, as he mustered what seemed like his last scrap of intestinal fortitude.

  The temperature in the room had to be nearing combustion levels and the consistent roar of the propane heater was clearly having the effect Declan had intended. The entire environment had been designed to be as stressful as possible and Kemiss was proving to be every bit the pansy Declan had thought he would be. "I never said his name was Ruslan, Senator. Checkmate."

  Kemiss' eyes opened and darted around the room between Declan, the two masked men and his wife, who was again making muffled pleas.

  "I think your wife has something to say to you," Declan said, as he walked over and pulled back the tape on her mouth.

  "You son of a bitch!" Mary Ellen Kemiss screamed. "You've been sitting here all this time and you never even thought to ask about your children!"

  Kemiss' eyes darted to his wife as Declan placed the tape back over her mouth.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, Senator," he said. "Did you think I was going to do all of these things to you?"

  Across the room, Nazari ripped down the tarp that had been concealing the far side of the garage. Keniss watched in horror as two small people sitting on metal chairs were revealed, their wrists bound behind their backs and black hoods covering their heads. Each wore only a pair of white underpants that were clearly soaked with sweat that ran from their pale skin.

  Kemiss drew in a labored breath and his eyes went wide as he saw his two sons seated at the other end of the garage. Declan reached for the claw hammer.

  "I'll tell you what I know!" the senator screamed. "I know who Ruslan Baktayev is and I know that he killed Abaddon Kafni. I know you're innocent, I swear! Seth Castellano and I set you up after you witnessed Baktayev leaving the scene of Kafni's death. We had to keep anyone from finding out he was in the country."

  "Why kill Kafni?"

  "Because that was the price Baktayev wanted for doing business. He had a personal vendetta for something, I don't know what, and he would only do what was wanted of him if we helped him kill Kafni."

  "Why Baktayev?"

  "Because he had a history in committing the kind of terror that was planned, he was behind the Beslan School crisis and nobody would think twice about him doing it again. It was a suicide mission, a martyrdom for Allah, so he wouldn't be around for interrogation. He planned the entire thing himself in 2004 before he was arrested in Russia. We only got him out of jail and asked him to pick up where he left off."

  "And who set up the bomb at the Barton Center?"

  "We did. The bomb was a distraction to get Kafni evacuated, but we were hoping he would be killed and that Baktayev wouldn't get the opportunity to murder him the way he was planning. It didn't work. Kafni escaped and you followed him to where he was staying."

  "Who were the men who set up the bomb? Were they the same men that came after me?"

  "Castellano hired them. He knew them from somewhere, I don't know where. He hired them to set up the bomb in the trunk of the security car and to distract Kafni's men. After he interviewed you and realized you knew who Baktayev was, he sent them to kill you and your wife."

  "Why did you do all of this?"

  "It wasn't my idea. Someone else came to me with it months ago."

  "Who?"

  Kemiss shook his head as if he wasn't going to tell.

  "Who?" Declan yelled, picking up the claw hammer.

  Kemiss licked his lips. "A man named Kreft. Lukas Kreft. He planned and financed the entire thing. He came to me for help in getting Baktayev into the country undetected and getting the documents he needed to plan the assault."

  Declan had thought about the possibility of Kemiss not being the only one involved. Was what he was saying true or just an attempt to shift blame by a corrupt old man trying desperately to separate himself from the evil he was involved in? At this point in time it didn't really matter. All of that could be ironed out once the plot was stopped and being officially investigated.

  "I only have one more question for you, Senator, and your answer will determine the end of our time together. Is it going to end quietly or with the tortured screams of your young boys? It's up to you. Where is Ruslan Baktayev?"

  Kemiss did his best to spit at Declan, but little in the way of moisture came out. "What makes you think I know that? Kreft's not an idiot. He kept that a secret, even from me. He knows who the weak links in the chain are. He blackmailed us. Castellano was gay. We were lovers, have been for years. If people knew, they'd think he got his position in the FBI by sleeping with me. Kreft used him to control the investigation and he used me to gain unrestricted access to the U.S. He set up illegal donations to my last campaign and threatened to reveal them. I'd have been ruined."

  "You're lying, Senator. The stigma of being gay went out with the last century. And would you really choose your career over the lives of hundreds of innocent American children? I don't believe there is a chain, so how can there be any weak links? You're attempting to distance yourself from this whole thing and I'm getting very impatient."

  Nazari made a loud exhibit of removing the now cherry-red fire poker from the grill of the propane heater as he stood, turning towards the seated boys.

  "One last chance, Senator," Declan said. "Where is Ruslan Baktayev?"

  Kemiss writhed in his seat and closed his eyes. "In a vacant warehouse in Dundalk, Maryland. The sign on the door says Broughman's Welding Service, but you're too late. He's already been activated. He and his men are on their way to a junior high school in Victoria, Virginia. Those people are going to die and if you try to stop him, you will too!"

  Declan exploded. Unable to contain his hatred for the man seated in front of him he grabbed Kemiss by the shoulders of his shirt and jerked him out of the chair, shoving him hard across the garage. Kemiss stumbled uncontrollably over a trash bin full of garden tools. Declan advanced on him again, but was stopped suddenly.

  "Enough!" Okan Osman shouted as he tried to hold Declan back, his feet sliding against the smooth concrete floor. "We still need him!"

  The fire poker clattered to the floor as Altair Nazari joined Osman, taking hold of Declan around the neck and locking his arm in place with his hand. Declan's nostrils flared and his eyes bored into Kemiss as the politician looked up from the ground, his nose bleeding. Slowly Declan relaxed. "Get him out of here, now."

  Nazari kept his hold as Osman let go and jerked Kemiss to his feet, pushing him quickly past Declan to the kitchen door, which he unlocked with a key before dragging the senator through and disappearing into the house.

  "Alright," Nazari said. "Alright?"

  Declan nodded and Nazari let go. They each took a deep breath and Nazari moved to the propane tank heater, turning a black knob on top of it until it popped loudly and the roaring stopped. Next he moved to one of the garage doors and pressed a button next to it, allowing the door to open about twelve inches before stopping it. Immediately a cold rush of air flooded in and it seemed like the temperature dropped dramatically.

  Declan looked around as Nazari continued moving around the room turning off the makeshift spotlights that had been used on Kemi
ss. In seconds the room began to look again like the suburbanite three car garage they had found earlier in the evening when they had arrived at the Kemiss property. A muffled protest drew his attention as Nazari flipped on the halogen lights in the garage ceiling. Mary Ellen Kemiss struggled against her restraints, but stopped as Declan locked eyes with her.

  "I would never hurt you or your children, Mrs. Kemiss," Declan said, as he walked around the two boys and pulled off their hoods. Her eyes went wide and became tearful as she saw the sweaty faces that blinked rapidly in the sudden light.

  "Is that it?" one of them asked, as Declan removed a set of large headphones from his head that had been concealed under the hood. "Are we done filming?"

  "Aye," Declan said, as he pulled the other boy's headphones off.

  "Good thing, man. I was really getting tired of that music."

  "Go out this door here and the men outside will make sure you get paid. Great work, lads." Declan cut the loose restraints that were barely holding them and they stood, pulling on two bathrobes that had been folded and stored near the door as they walked through it.

  Declan closed the door. He didn't think he'd ever allow his own children, should he ever have any, to act in the kind of movie he'd said he was filming when he'd called the entertainment agency earlier in the day, but thankfully there were some parents who didn't seem bothered by it.

  "Your two boys have been in the upstairs guest room watching a movie this entire time," he said, as he turned back to Mary Ellen Kemiss and walked over. He cut her restraints and slowly peeled back the tape on her mouth. "I'm sure they'd like to see their mother now."

  "You son of a bitch!" the woman said, as she stood and slapped him across the face. "How could you do this, to anyone?"

  He pushed her gently towards the door and Nazari guided her into the house, shutting the door behind them. When they were gone, Declan walked over to the spotlight that had been positioned in front of Kemiss and pushed the off button on a small digital camcorder that had been secured to the bottom of the light. Walking back towards the kitchen door, he stopped and slumped down into the chair Kemiss' wife had been sitting in and put his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Had Kemiss called his bluff, he would have lost, and America would have lost with him.