The Killing Collective

by Gary Starta

  This is my fault. She broke protocol because I let her run with her leads on her own.

  Sedated or not, Carter had to talk to her. He waited as long as he could to ask her what details she could recall of her ambush at the Dead Horse Bay. Agent Deeprose had no recollection of anything except a man in black passing by on a motorcycle. She didn’t recall requesting emergency backup, but supposed she must have. She was alive because someone wanted her to stay that way; that much was obvious. The tranquilizer darts did the trick; The Unholy Three remained unconscious until they woke up in handcuffs hours later. Carter thought the man who saved Deeprose might have been Mr. X.

  She croaked, “Water, please?”

  Carter fetched the glass on the bedside table and helped Deeprose sip it through a straw. It took all her energy to do it. “Thank you for saving me, out there.”

  “You did this all by yourself, Agent. I’m sorry you felt you had to.”

  “You mean…you weren’t there?”

  “No. I had no idea where you were. Someone else stopped to help you – someone with a dart gun who hit all three women. That was what saved you. We don’t know yet who it was, but it could have been Mr. X.”

  “How could he have known Ah was there when no one else did? Unless he’s been followin’ me.”

  “If he was, we’ll know it soon enough. You’re alive to tell the story only because Alison picked up your gun but refused to use it on you or anyone else. She’s a mental wreck over your condition. I’m convinced, from the statements the other two made, that if they’d been the ones to retrieve your gun, you would have been dead before the man on the motorcycle ever got there. Your gun went off accidentally while Alison was putting it down. The bullet entered between the shoulder and the collar bone and exited out the other side. No internal organs were hit. You were lucky, miraculously lucky, Agent. This is the last time you will investigate a lead on your own.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Alison told us the whole story. She’s suffered a lifetime of physical and emotional abuse by her own father and just about everyone else. This pushed her over the edge. I wish she’d gone to the police right after the Florio murder, but I also understand why she felt she couldn’t. The micro-brewery kills were in defense of the girl named Clara; the surveillance camera bears that out. She’s ready to take whatever’s coming to her.

  “Clara is screaming bloody murder. Apparently her uncle is some big-time attorney she thinks will be able get her out of this. She’s all hysterics, but not one hair out of place. Clara maintains that she was an innocent victim who was kidnapped and forced to participate in the Dead Horse Bay attack on you. She’s smart, but not smart enough. Her story has huge holes in it. She won’t go down without a fight, but her story’s already falling apart. She’s lying to us, but we’ll break her pretty soon. You know, she never even asked about your condition – not once - but she’s still pretty positive she’s got you bamboozled. It’s pretty sad, actually, because the only one she’s fooling now is herself.

  “Eliza’s more liked a caged animal than a human being. No relatives. No emotion beyond the desire to party, kill, or be killed. All she’ll say is that she never got to experience a single murder. She’s a sociopath. I don’t think she understands that. It seems she was a victim of the Collective too, but when she realized she hadn’t done her murder but remembered their drug, she went rogue and arranged to steal it and use it for her own purposes. Personally, I don’t even think she’s competent to stand trial.”

  “So what’s next, Agent Carter? We still have to find out who the Silver Man is an’ get those filthy drugs out of his hands and off the street. Ah haven’t done a thing to solve this case, damn it, an’ now Ah’m stuck in here for the duration.”

  “Hold on! You pointed us in the direction of Arthur Moreland and the Meese Corporation. We’ll get a line on the Collective through Alison; she’s eager to help us capture the Silver Man, even if the other two are worthless to us. You’ve done an enormous amount of work breaking this case. Let me run with the ball now. Your only job now is to get well and rest up.”

  “Where’s Jill? Ah thought she’d be here.” She seemed more than a little disappointed.

  “She’s at the lab trying to analyze the contents of the tranquilizer darts. Maybe it can be used to find the motorcycle man and Mr. X, and the rest of our mystery men. I’m beginning to wonder just how many there are out there.”

  ***

  Carter raised a hand to hail a cab. He had no idea where he wanted to go, so he let the cabbie drive around Central Park for a while. He needed time to think about his next move. The D.O.J. charged The Unholy Three with conspiracy to murder a federal agent attempted murder, and kidnapping, but there was no evidence yet to support any other charges except for Alison’s own admission of responsibility for the murders of David Florio, the micro-brewery security guard, and Abby. The case was still open, though, because Alison and Eliza both stated they’d been to a Collective meeting. Alison didn’t know anything about the killing drug until she met Michael. At least his story was out in the open, now.

  He began to focus on Arthur Moreland a.k.a. Clayton Artemus Montgomery. His connection to the museum and Meese Corporation was too much of a coincidence in regards to the drug that had been developed there and later stolen. Maybe he could lead them to the Silver Man. Senator Pressman had already spoken with the F.B.I. He was no longer a person of interest, but he knew more than he was telling. He’d come in handy later on when the time came for him to be charged with complicity and a whole lot of other things that would ruin his career.

  Carter decided to get out of the cab and walk a little bit. Deep in thought, he began to formulate a plan to track down the man he thought of now as Montgomery when a large, black Cadillac appeared alongside him and stopped. A gentleman who looked to be in his mid-70s and sported a head of gray hair lowered his window.

  “Good morning, Agent Carter. Please allow me to drive you to your next appointment.” His tone was light and breezy and his blue eyes twinkled, but he was all business.

  Carter stopped dead in his tracks. “Who are you?”

  “I think you know who I am, Agent Carter. I’m here to help.”

  Carter felt his pulse quicken. Was this the infamous Mr. X? He hesitated a mere moment for show, but his decision was already made. Eaten up with curiosity, Carter approached the open window and flashed his badge.

  “I’m a federal agent, sir. This is not a game. If you make so much as a short stop, I’ll shoot. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Carter walked around to the other side and rode shotgun.

  “Your deputy director refers to me as “Mr. X”. Has he told you much about me?”

  Carter shook his head. “No, he hasn’t. Suppose you do…”

  “Officially, I don’t exist. Many years ago, the Department of Justice created an affiliated organization. I was part of it. This organization was, and still is, untouchable. We were supposed to play a key role in moving civilization forward – all civilization. The problems were the usual ones. How would they decide what initiatives were the best ones for all mankind? How should they be introduced into society?

  “Was a better, safer future a justifiable reason for using unlimited wealth and power to put anything we deemed necessary in motion? I couldn’t answer that question all those years ago, but I can now. The one thing that never seems to change is their penchant for using money and power for their own ends.

  “I don’t deny my complicity with them at first, but I gradually distanced myself from the group. Over time, they went their separate ways and the organization faded into obscurity. But make no mistake, Agent Carter, these people have regrouped, resurfaced, and renamed themselves. They have access, once more, to the highest levels of protection and a vast fortune in funding organized by a few select people at the top of the government food chain. They plan to pick up where they left off, and, by now, they may already be unstoppable. That’s why
I’m here.”

  Carter was more than a little skeptical. “Look, even if I believed half of what you’re saying, we’re not aware of any such conspiracy. Why should you, all of a sudden, decide to risk your own exposure to help us close these particular cases?”

  “Because the murders arranged by the Collective are neither motivated by fear nor arranged by anarchic haters. Their leader may be mad, but he’s the one pulling the strings. The social-political meetings are nothing more than misdirection and a way for him to collect killers quickly and easily.”

  “How so?”

  “The political climate is forcing an explosion of fanaticism. It’s relatively easy to fan the fires of intolerance, supremacy, bigotry, chauvinism, racism, misogyny, exclusionism and any other damn thing you can think of. Whipping crowds of hotheads into a frenzy of outrage is a brilliant idea; it always was. All that he needed were advertisements targeting known extremists, the right words, and the perfect orator. The drug was the real reason for the meetings.”

  “The drug? Why?”

  Mr. X let out a long, frustrated sigh. “It’s part of a larger plan. I can see now that Deputy Director Fischetti either ignored me or intentionally misled you. Either way, you’re on the wrong trail. The men and women attending the Collective meetings are the unwitting participants of a double-blind study. They don’t even know they’re committing real murders until it’s too late. When they do find out the truth, they’ve obviously too scared to come forward. That’s just what the Collective is counting on.”

  “We’ll come back to the experiment in a moment. Can you tell me why the murders are random?”

  “They’re not random, Agent Carter. The murders are necessary to test the efficacy of a synthetic drug intended to induce mind control. It makes people incredibly violent, like human war machines. They need to know the percentage of people who can and cannot resist it to any degree. As it turns out, the drug is also addictive. Some attendees find themselves craving more of it, but since they have no idea they’ve been drugged, all they know is that they felt better at the Collective, so they go back again and again. Others, the sociopaths and psychopaths who realize they’ve been drugged, want more. Either they go back to the meetings hoping they might get another dose, or they attempt to steal it for their own personal use. The rest are hiding, scared shitless.

  “I’ll help you catch the killers Agent, but we can’t stop there. We have to find the Silver Man; he’s the only one who can lead us to the organization we’re after.”

  “Who is he, sir?”

  “I can’t tell you that just yet – not without compromising my anonymity. There’s no time to waste hoping you’ll chase a carrot you can’t see, so I’m going to tell you where to look. Confiscate the evidence that was overlooked at David Florio’s home, in New Jersey. If I’m correct, there’s something there that will make you understand everything – almost everything, anyway. The curator may have been an intentional target, but Florio had to have been an unexpected liability; he doesn’t fit the pattern I’m seeing. He must have stumbled onto something and decided to keep a record of it. The murders are all connected, Agent Carter. They are not random. Not by a long shot.”

  Carter was itching to get back to the Bureau to go over all the evidence again, but he wanted the whole story and thought he was going to get it. He asked a few more questions to test the waters. “So the Collective is testing this drug on humans as the first part of a larger agenda. What is the agenda, then? Do you know what the drug is and where it came from? Is Artemus Montgomery or the Meese Corporation involved in any way?”

  “All excellent questions, Agent. Now, go find the answers. Don’t get distracted by the rogue killers, Agent. Stick to the evidence connected to the killers you already know and who were dosed at the meetings they attended.”

  Carter decided to share some information in the hopes of getting more. “We’ve got the girl the Jersey cops found on Florio’s computer from the dating site. She’s our prime suspect. Can you tell me how she could come up with such a plan, even drugged?”

  “After the drug begins to kick in, in about 15 – 30 minutes, the subject is extremely susceptible to suggestion. My feeling is that they are pre-programmed to commit specific murders in a specific way and for a specific reason. I’m taking a terrible risk helping you, you know, but no one lives forever.” He graced Carter with a devilishly charming grin.

  “If I do somehow manage to get this evidence, how will I find you if I want to discuss it?”

  “I’ll find you, Agent Carter.”

  Carter tried to get one more answer out of the old man. “Did you save Agent Deeprose, Mr. X?”

  Mr. X smiled and pulled over. “Good try, Agent Carter. Now, get a move on.”

  ***

  The N.J. P.D. turned over all their evidence to the Bureau when the case went cold. Carter went directly to the evidence locker at headquarters and pulled out the one thing most likely to have contained information that was overlooked - David Florio’s hard drive.

  He walked it over to the Bureau’s cybercrime unit, who were more than happy to snoop around for what the police might have missed. Tom, hailed as king of the computer geeks, tossed back his straggly, dirty blonde hair and nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Cops’ll never know all the neat places to search for the really juicy stuff on a hard drive. Even if they did, they wouldn’t recognize it as a clue. Cops are lug-heads. Real linear thinkers, know what I mean? I bet they missed a whole lot of stuff hidden away on this baby. I’ll find the dirt for you, Agent Carter. No worries.”

  “This is just between you and me, O.K., Tom? Report anything you find to myself only.”

  Tom smiled mischievously and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Now I know there’s something good on it.”

  The next day passed slowly. Carter knew that demanding an update every ten minutes wouldn’t get him his answers any sooner. Deeprose would be in the hospital until nearly Christmas, and Jill was working in the lab around the clock. She’d finally identified Alison’s print as the one left at Florio’s home, and it was a match to the prints left on the rail of the fermenting vat at the micro-brewery.

  Carter knew that if he interrupted her now, he’d only get tossed out on his ass, so he decided to visit the Buddhist temple to try to regain his sense of calm. Afterwards, he paid Fischetti an impromptu visit, but Liz, his executive assistant, wouldn’t let him in his office.

  “I’m sorry, Agent Carter; he can’t be disturbed.” Her voice was a little too sharp, even for her, and she avoided making eye contact.

  Liz looks worried.

  “O.K. Liz, what’s up? I can’t help him if you don’t tell me anything.”

  “A couple of suits came in a little while ago with no identification. They knew there was another buzzer to his office door under my desk and used it to let themselves into his office without me notifying him first. They just shoved me out of the way like I was a nobody! I’m concerned about him, Agent. This breaks protocol.”

  “It sounds like someone above Fischetti’s pay grade is pretty anxious about something. Don’t worry, Liz. I’m sure it’s all right.”

  Boy, would I like to be a fly on that wall right now.

  Carter knew he wasn’t going to get into the office, so he checked in on the cybercrime unit next. Tom found a document that had been deleted but still on Florio’s hard drive. Florio’s work history tied him to Meese as a short-term I.T. consultant. He’d have known what was in that document, and he’d also know that even deleted, it could still be retrieved.

  “He must have felt fairly safe about having it, Tom, but keep at it. I want to know what’s in that document. It may be nothing, but you never know. Contact me the minute you have something.” Carter walked out whistling.

  An hour later, he was back, staring at a document simply entitled Burn List. Carter emailed it to his home computer, printed a hard copy and dropped it in a mailbox to be delivered to his own apartment. Ta
mpering with the mail was a federal offense, so he was fairly certain that even if he was hacked, he’d still have a hard copy to bargain with.

  I wish I could be certain of Fischetti, but I can’t chance it. Until I know more, I’ll keep this one to myself. .

  The list was intriguing. It contained two columns: Job Title and Name of Organization/Agency/Company was in the left-hand column, and corresponding names were in the right. Every one of them held key, high, or influential positions from every walk of life and from all over the world. His eyes scanned the list looking for a common thread that might tie all these people to his case.

  Burn List

  Justice, Supreme Court

  Earl Statler III

  Civil Servant, Environmental Protection Agency

  Nancy Bodeen

  Research Scientist, Area 51

  Steven Anderson

  Internationally Known Talk Show Host

  Candace Williams

  Author/Poet, Pulitzer Prize Winner

  Tamika Washington

  Actor, Endangered Species Activist

  Michael Francis

  Philanthropist, Children’s Hunger Foundation

  Princess Stefanie, United Kingdom

  Foreign Correspondent for the World News Press

  Jennifer Powell

  Director, Library of Congress

  Anthony Scarpello

  Lobbyist, Natural Gas and Oil

  Kelly O’Reilly

  Dean of the School of Medicine, Harvard

  Dr. Arthur Sternberg

  Multi-Billionaire and Aspiring Politician

  Austin Boyd

  Living Saint

  Mother Christina

  Spiritual Leader, India

  Maharishi Yogethartra

  Spokesperson, Civil, Women’s and LGBTQ Rights

  Gretta Olsen