Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  The man tried to push the door off himself, but before he could Jack raised his right foot again and brought the heel of his black shoe down into the man’s nose, instantly sending the German to dreamland. The man’s right hand stuck out from under the smashed door. Jack reached down and retrieved the gun, tossing it to one side without looking. Carl deftly caught it and went to the left of the entranceway. Jack slid by the unconscious man. The old woman had collapsed and was holding her hands over her face.

  “Do you speak English?” Jack asked. He bent over and assisted the elderly woman to her feet.

  “Ja,” she said, slowly wiping away her tears. “Yes,” she repeated.

  “Your father, is he here?” Jack asked.

  The woman started crying and pointed toward the back of the small apartment. Jack handed the woman off to Carl and slowly crept toward one of the two bedrooms. The door on the left was ajar and Collins eased it open with the barrel of the nine-millimeter. As the door opened he went to one knee as quickly as he could and scanned the room with the gun. After a moment he spotted the man they had come to question. Zinsser was lying across his bed still clad in pajamas, with only one slipper on. Jack closed his eyes and rose to his feet.

  “Clear,” he called out, without much enthusiasm. With his gun still out and pointed at the closet door, he stepped forward. He eased the closet door open. It was empty of everything except the clothing of an old man in retirement. He looked down and saw that Zinsser’s throat had been cut deeply, nearly to the back of his spine. Shaking his head, Jack looked deeply into the old man’s glazed eyes, then turned and left the bedroom. He checked the daughter’s room and found it empty. He returned to the small living room where Carl had just eased the old woman into a large chair.

  “She said he was alone. He got in by claiming he was a house handyman. She says he didn’t ask for anything, just took Zinsser into the bedroom and killed him. He was about to do the same to Ms. Zinsser here, when we showed up.”

  Jack stepped forward and grabbed the killer by the collar, lifting him off the floor.

  “Okay, wake-up time,” Collins said as he shook the man. “Come on. Time to answer a couple of questions.”

  The man moaned and his eyes fluttered open. His hands came up and went to his shattered nose, where blood was still flowing.

  “Come on, let me see,” Jack said, as if he were trying to help the man. The young German warily lowered his hands. That was when Jack noticed the freshness of the man’s haircut. The tan ended far lower than it would have if he had always had a shaved head.

  Everett had to smile when Jack’s gun hand came up and smashed into the German’s broken nose, sending his bald head backward with a scream of agony. Even the older woman had stopped crying long enough to smile as she saw her father’s killer in pain.

  “Now,” Jack said, shaking the moaning man in black. “That was to get your attention. Who sent you?”

  “Fuck off,” the man managed to say in English, as blood started flowing at a significant rate, soaking Jack’s hand. The gun hand flew again, striking the man in a part of the nose that was still intact, breaking a new section.

  “We can do this all day long, Fritz, it’s up to you.”

  “We work for no one. We—”

  Again Jack’s hand flew up, as though it was his automatic reaction to a lie. The gun butt struck the man right across the bridge of the nose, crushing the bone and gashing the skin to the cartilage. This time the kid’s weight was too much for Collins and he let the boy fall backward onto the floor.

  Everett, who had just given the daughter his handkerchief, saw something on the wall that made him walk over and take a closer look. As Jack leaned over the phony, reeling neo-Nazi, Carl turned and looked at the daughter.

  “Ma’am, who’s this man with your father?” he asked, his question drawing Jack’s attention away from the gagging man on the floor.

  “That is Albert Speer,” she said, with sad eyes. “I’m afraid he and my father spent many years together inside Spandau.”

  “Yes, but that’s not who I mean.” Carl touched the image of a blond-haired man dressed in the uniform of an American lieutenant colonel. “Who is this?”

  “That was one of my father’s jailers for a time at the prison. I cannot recall his name at the moment,” she answered. She started crying again.

  “Jack, you want to leave your dance partner there for a minute and look at this?”

  Collins slapped the man on the side of the face.

  “Will you excuse me? I’ll only be a minute.”

  The man rolled to his right, clutching his gushing nose. He didn’t bother to answer.

  “What have you got?”

  “Does this guy look familiar to you?” Everett asked. He turned to make sure Zinsser’s killer wasn’t moving.

  Collins saw the picture of the three men and tilted his head.

  “He does, but I’ll be damned if I can place him.” Jack turned to the woman and sat on the armrest of the chair. He kept his gun out of view to keep from frightening her any more than she already was.

  “Do you know when this photo was taken?”

  “I … I … don’t know. At least I’m not positive of the date. I would think it was around 1947, a year or so after my father was convicted of crimes against humanity.” She wiped at her wet eyes. “He really wasn’t a criminal, not like the rest of those pigs. He … he was just a clerk, nothing more.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we know, but the man beside—”

  That was as far as Jack got. A shout sounded and several men stormed into the room with guns drawn. Jack raised his hands and let the gun slip from his grasp as he recognized the uniforms of the local German police. The five of them were followed by two men in suits. Everett muttered “shit” as the police turned him around and frisked him. Jack endured his own search stoically. Another two officers pulled the killer to his feet.

  “Colonel Collins, you are under arrest for entering Germany with false papers, and you are also under arrest for murder in the Republic of Ecuador.” The smaller of the two well-dressed men took Jack’s wrists and handcuffed him.

  “I take it you’re Interpol?” he asked as he was turned around.

  “We have been informed of your considerable prowess at escaping from custody, and your military accomplishments are valued reading at our offices, Colonel. So please, don’t try any of your tricks. You may find out that you’re not faster than a speeding bullet.”

  “Damn, Jack, you mean you really can’t outrun bullets?” Everett smirked as he was led out of the apartment, just behind Zinsser’s killer.

  “No, and I can’t jump buildings in a single bound either, smartass.”

  “Then I’m afraid we’re going to jail, buddy,” Everett called back.

  Just as Jack was led to the door, the old woman stood and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Danke,” she said, as she was pulled away by two uniformed officers. She looked at Collins with tears running down her cheeks.

  “For what it’s worth, ma’am, we know your father wasn’t anything like those he spent time in jail with.”

  Jack was pulled away and the woman looked lost as she watched the scene before her, grateful that her own murder had been interrupted by the two Americans who had arrived out of nowhere.

  * * *

  The man was dressed in the uniform of the Deutsches Heer—the fatigues of the German army. He stood at the large window across the way from the apartment building and gazed through binoculars. The woman beside him stepped anxiously from one foot to the other, waiting nervously for the result of the setup. Laurel Rawlins watched the reaction of the bearded Mechanic as he scanned the apartment building across the way. He moved the field glasses to the right and then the left, making sure his people were in place.

  “You will see, Ms. Rawlins, why our plan calls for the first domino to be placed in exactly the right position for our plan to succeed. You will learn here today why things must be in a
special order to achieve the results you seek.”

  “If you ask me, we should have killed those men as soon as their aircraft landed at the airport. This elaborate setup is a waste of time.”

  “No one is asking you,” the Mechanic said. He seemed satisfied with the placement of the men and the explosives. “However, Mr. McCabe has asked me to school you on the finer points of the domino theory he has devised.” He turned and looked directly at Laurel with his black, penetrating eyes. “The men that we allowed to enter the building would come across one of two results inside the apartment—one, our man there had succeeded in his duty and killed the two occupants, which he had plenty of time to do since we arranged his entry into the apartment at a time we knew the two Americans we were following would enter. Mission one completed. Mr. Zinsser is dead, one hole to Columbus is plugged.”

  “Which should have happened years ago,” Laurel said in exasperation.

  “That is not my concern. We were only recently brought into this haphazard operation. You can blame your father for that little oversight, not me. And not Mr. McCabe.” The Mechanic turned and scanned the front doors to the apartment building. As he saw the angry crowd start to shove forward toward the police barricade, he smiled. “Number two, we tip Interpol and the local police about our two American friends who just happened to be wanted for murder in Ecuador, thus they arrive and catch them in a very compromising position with one, two, or three dead men inside.”

  “Again, a waste of time,” Laurel countered, trying to anger the Mechanic even further. “These men obviously have high government connections and will undoubtedly be released to their embassy—thus, as I said, a waste of time.”

  “Your learning curve may not be progressing as fast as Mr. McCabe seemed to think it would, miss.” He smiled as he saw the front doors open across the street. The police and plainclothes Interpol agents walked out with the two Americans in tow. They were followed by the handcuffed killer and several other police officers. He nodded.

  Down below in the area leading to the apartment building, the men he had paid handsomely started their small deceit. The neo-Nazi skinheads started crowding around the police, the agents, and the two handcuffed Americans. The police started shoving and the crowd below grew wilder as protesters from the street were attracted by the action. The Mechanic lowered his field glasses and looked at the three devices lining the window seal in front of him.

  “The second domino to fall, miss.” He picked up the first remote detonator. “The police are about to be attacked by your father’s words from six thousand miles away. The demonstration below is about to turn ugly.” He turned and looked at Laurel. “Now do you see? It’s all going to be bundled into one nice package—no witnesses and our Mr. McCabe is eliminating a serious threat to your father’s plans by having this Colonel Collins and his friend blown to Allah. And all the while the blame will be placed on the civil unrest in the streets.”

  “And this will make Germany pull its backing for the space launches by the ESA?” she asked, shaking her head.

  “Exactly.”

  “Too much. This could have been done a lot simpler.”

  “But it wasn’t. Would you like to do the honors?” he asked, offering her the remote device.

  Laurel smiled and all doubt about the plan seemed to vanish as the opportunity to kill presented itself.

  “What am I detonating?” she asked, swallowing and starting to sweat as she caressed the detonator. The Mechanic watched her and his black brow rose. He knew beyond a doubt that this woman was trouble, and her insanity, not to mention her father’s, could very well lead to disaster.

  “You are starting a series of detonations. The police will have trouble getting to their vehicles because of the delay that we have paid for. Once in the street, you will press that trigger and five claymore mines will explode in the path of the police, our assassin, and the Americans.”

  “And several hundred civilians,” she said, her eyes alight.

  “A necessary sacrifice if we are to deter the German government from supporting the space launch. We have people in France, Japan, and Italy doing the same things as we speak. Your father’s words of revolt have spread, as per his plan. The incident with the JPL employee, though unplanned, was a surprise result of your father’s inflammatory words.”

  “My God,” Laurel said, as she closed her eyes and stepped toward the window. She opened her eyes again and saw the two large Americans being pulled through the rowdy crowd of protesters. She looked to the right and saw a hundred more Berlin policemen in riot gear trying to push through the crowd, their shields and clubs making a path as people started pushing back. All of a sudden, James McCabe’s plan started to open up before her.

  “Yes, praise be to Allah,” the Mechanic said, as he saw the ecstasy cross Laurel’s beautiful face. “I see you are coming to grips with the domino theory.”

  The woman didn’t say anything as her thumb played over the detonator that would cause five U.S.-made claymore mines to explode, sending five thousand ball-bearing-sized missiles flying into the mass of humanity.

  “God is great,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Down below in the street, Jack and Carl didn’t think the angry mob was going to let them get to the police cruisers. The cars were being jostled by the protesters, each being rocked back and forth on its suspension. Suddenly Jack was pushed to the ground along with Everett. When Collins looked up, he saw that the same man he had threatened before entering the apartment building was standing above them. He had a crooked grin on his lips as Collins saw he wasn’t alone. The police were there and trying desperately to pull the skinheads away from their prisoners. Jack heard a loud grunt behind him and managed to roll onto his back just as one of the skinheads pulled a large knife from the man who had just killed Joss Zinsser upstairs. The man looked over at Jack and Carl amid the shuffling legs and feet.

  “Uh-oh,” Carl yelled out loud but to no avail as the policemen were busy trying to keep men and women back from their prisoners.

  Suddenly a surge from the crowd pushed the knife-wielding man away and Jack felt himself being lifted from the ground. As he was roughly turned around he saw the smiling face of the man from the front door. He tilted his head as he raised something to chest level. Jack tried to pull away but knew the knife would be faster than him. While police bullhorns shouted orders in German and somewhere in the distance loud popping sounds started sounding that Collins recognized as tear gas canisters exploding, the skinhead thrust forward with the knife.

  Just as Jack thought he was about to feel cold steel penetrate his stomach, the man’s face writhed and he was yanked backward by someone’s arm. Jack took the opportunity to twist free and kick out with his foot, catching the German in the stomach just as he was pulled over backward by the person who had grabbed him. Jack assumed that this was a policeman, but he wasn’t about to wait around to confirm it. He turned and tried to find Everett, but the tear gas had started to roll into the crowded and dangerous street.

  “Jack, help him!” a voice yelled out, rising above the pandemonium.

  Collins turned back around, not seeing who was yelling at him, but he did see the struggle on the ground as the skinhead thrashed away at the man holding him on the ground. The German’s body covered Jack’s savior so he couldn’t see who it was, then the shout from the crowd came again.

  “Jack, help him!”

  Instead of finding Everett and running, Collins did what he did best. He again raised his foot and brought it down into the Nazi’s face, sending him into oblivion and stopping his struggles with the policeman holding him. Jack turned and started looking for Everett again.

  “Colonel!” came a voice from the crowd.

  “Jack, get the doc!”

  Collins turned back and saw the Nazi’s body being pushed away. A familiar face looked up as four sets of legs came into view and stepped all over his savior. Then he recognized the crazed hair of Doc Ellenshaw.
Jack figured there couldn’t be another hairdo like that in the entire world. The frizzy white hair was all over the place and Jack almost panicked when he saw that Ellenshaw was about to be trampled underfoot by the now crazed crowd. He leaned over the prone cryptozoologist.

  “Grab my neck, Doc!” he shouted.

  Ellenshaw threw his arms around Collins. Jack pulled up and back. His hands were still restrained by the handcuffs, so he had to use another means of rescuing the man who had just rescued him. Soon there was another set of hands pulling on Jack from behind as both men straightened.

  “May I suggest we make an exit from this place?”

  A totally confused Collins turned and saw the familiar thick glasses of Pete Golding. Jack shook his head and then nodded toward the street.

  “That way,” he shouted.

  The four men started running as fast as the crowd would let them. All around them men and women were shouting, coughing, throwing stones and bottles—one of which clipped Ellenshaw as he held on to Jack’s belt.

  “The alley!” Collins yelled again, spotting a somewhat safe haven for the moment.

  As they pushed and head-butted their way across the street, their bodies seemed to start flying. All motion and sound came to a stop. Jack was pushed from behind by a superheated wave of pressure as the five claymore mines detonated from their hiding places on five separate street lamps lining the street. Ball-bearing-sized pieces of steel exploded into the now panicked crowd of protesters, slicing into skin, muscle, and bone. Jack, Ellenshaw, Everett, and Golding were shoved into the alley and they all fell as one on top of one another. As they hit the cobbled alley floor, the sound and the smell hit them all at the same time. Collins rolled to his back and looked up just in time to see a horrible sight. A cloud of red mist settled into the alley, assisted by the rush of air. He knew by the smell and the sharp report of ricocheting pellets that the protesters had been hit by something similar to antipersonnel mines.