The girls were fortunate to hail a local cab. They threw what little luggage they had into the trunk and climbed into the backseat. They finally made it to the white-steepled Baptist church on John Avenue in the quiet suburban area with the picket fences, tree-lined streets, and sprawling green lawns. It was ironic that they were meeting inside a church when their intentions were wicked. When Lisa and Mona saw the church, they were shocked.
“We meeting here?” Lisa asked, being to some extent stunned.
“I guess so. This is the right address,” Cristal told them.
“What are we, applying to be priests and pastors now?” Mona joked.
It was early. Cristal walked up the concrete stairway to pull open the doors, but to her surprise, the church was locked down tight.
“What the fuck,” Cristal muttered. She sighed and looked around. She checked the instructions once again and it was definitely the right place. Maybe they had come too early, but E.P. advised her to arrive early, warning her that the people he worked for didn’t tolerate tardiness at all.
“What’s goin’ on, Cristal? We in the right place, or what?” Tamar asked.
“I think so.”
“What do you mean you think so?”
Cristal looked around, confused. Something had to give. The cab driver was still parked on the street, car idling, waiting for further directions from the girls. There weren’t any further instructions; they’d only been told to meet at the church before 8am. It was 8am and there wasn’t a soul around. Cristal got nervous. Had she fucked up somehow? Did she screw up the instructions E.P. had given her? She hoped not. She’d made sure to follow everything he told her to do, to a T. The only mistake she made was telling Tamar the truth about the job. Had E.P. found out somehow? she wondered. The man had his resources and spies everywhere.
“The church is locked?” Mona asked.
“It is.”
“What now?”
Cristal didn’t know what now. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Don’t tell me we came way out here for no reason at all. Does this job really exist, Cristal?” Mona asked.
“It does.”
They all sighed. Cristal stood around looking dumbfounded. The last thing she wanted to do was panic or get angry. She kept her cool and walked toward the cab. The Caucasian driver didn’t seem too pushy for his fee. He nonchalantly sat behind the wheel of his cab watching the girls pace around the area trying to come up with some solution. They were at the edge of nowhere, and home was many miles away.
“Do you have a name or a phone number?” Lisa asked.
“No,” Cristal answered.
“Why not?” Lisa asked.
“Because I don’t,” Cristal replied sharply.
Cristal sighed again. Her crew trusted her to come out to Long Island; now she felt stupid in front of them. She’d guaranteed them a promising gig and payment; now it was hard to wipe the egg off her face.
“Cristal, what’s goin’ on?” Tamar asked with concern.
“We didn’t leave Brooklyn for this,” Mona uttered.
Cristal was ready to snap at them. “No, we didn’t leave Brooklyn for this. I just need to think. Something’s gotta give here, cuz I’m gonna make it right,” Cristal said with assurance in her voice.
The cab driver gazed at Cristal and asked, “Is there a problem here, ladies?”
“Nah, no problem,” Cristal returned unworriedly, focusing on the driver.
“You sure there’s no problem here?” the driver reiterated coolly.
“Look, we pay you to drive us around, not to be in our fuckin’ business,” she scolded.
The driver laughed. He lit a cigarette and fixed his attention on the girls, and suddenly transformed into the foremost figure in their eyes, no longer looking like the humble cab driver who’d picked them up from the train station.
“You girls need help, I see,” the man said.
“We don’t need help,” Cristal spat.
“You sure about that, Cristal?” he countered.
“How did you know my name?” Cristal exclaimed.
He puffed on his cigarette and breathed out smoke. He looked into the eyes of all four girls and had a steady calm about him. He wasn’t in any rush to answer her question. She wasn’t important to him. Like E.P., he had a job to do. He was paid by the Commission to subtly observe the girls’ behavior upon their arrival in Ronkonkoma and give a vital report on them. They were potential recruits, and once recruits arrived into the town, they were watched like a hawk. The people watching could be anybody—the cab driver, a sanitation worker, a cop, the conductor, a housewife, a teenage girl; it didn’t matter. The Commission employed people of all ethnicities, creeds, and occupations.
Cristal was stunned that the cabbie knew her name. She asked sternly again, “How did you know my name?”
“Because I was paid to know about you,” the man replied nonchalantly.
It suddenly dawned on Cristal; he was part of the Commission or hired by them. Her heart jumped, her fiery attitude changed suddenly and she apologized to him for her behavior.
“I’m so sorry. We came to this place as instructed and the doors are locked,” she told him.
“It’s because we’re not ready to start the process.”
“Process? What process?” Mona inquired.
“The minute you stepped onto that train, we have been watching, and testing you,” the man said. “We are everywhere.”
“Oh, really?” Mona uttered.
“So what now?” Cristal asked.
“What now? This is what now,” the man replied, motioning his hand toward the church door. It suddenly opened up.
The man continued. “One can never be too careful. Inside, we have a lot of work to do.”
The girls entered the Baptist church. Inside were about thirty other people, mostly young and eager looking—supposedly new recruits from all over, vying for the elite job of working for the Commission. They were of all nationalities: black, white, Hispanic, and more. Everyone in the room stood around until they were told to find a seat in the pews. Each person looked lost and out of place. Out of the thirty people in attendance, only six were women, four of them from Cristal’s crew.
It was about to become a very interesting day for everyone inside. An hour after entering the church, while conversations went on, and strangers tried to become familiar with each other, a well-dressed but hard-looking white man with a faded teardrop tattoo under his right eye and a strong German accent came out to greet them. The tattoo looked like he was in the process of having it laser removed—trying to erase evidence from his past.
“Willkommen jeder!” the man said loudly to the crowd in German, which meant “Welcome everyone!”
He had their undivided attention.
“Sie haben einen langen Weg von zu hause gereist . . . fur diese große chance . . .” he continued.
The man gazed heavily into the small gathering of people before him. He stood on the church platform with his strong presence speaking volumes. Not a soul in the room understood what he had just said in German. Their faces were baffled; some didn’t even know he had just spoken in German.
“And in case you do not speak German, I just said ‘Welcome everyone. You have all traveled a long way for this great opportunity.’ There are many of you, but not all of you will be chosen. This is a grueling and challenging program, and we accept nothing but the best. As you know, discretion is one of our major rules. From here on, you will have no outside contract with family, friends, coworkers, or anyone else. From here on in, you belong to us,” the German announced.
Cristal and her friends looked on in silence. They all were intimidated by him and his ominous looking cohorts that surrounded him. Cristal remained emotionless and focused. She slyly looked to see if E.P. was around, but th
ere wasn’t any sign of him.
The towering German continued, “My name is not of any importance to any of you. You shall refer to me as Mr. X.”
He watched the room for a short moment, evaluating the recruits.
“In this program, we train you on everything, and within three months, we will have you speaking multiple languages, as well as being skilled in other areas. The people that recruited you are no longer of any concern to you and you will not see them during training, nor ever again. They have already performed their tasks; now it’s time for the chosen ones to perform theirs. Your only concern these next ninety days is surviving this arduous training session. And I reiterate, not all of you will be chosen,” Mr. X stated hardheartedly.
Cristal gulped hard. Lisa looked petrified, and Mona was concerned, but Tamar kept cool.
The German continued, “Now I know most of you will have questions, but questions, we do not answer here. We ask you the questions. You all came at your own risk. This is not boot camp, people. We make boot camp look like Disney World here, do you all understand that?” It was a rhetorical question.
Lisa looked at Cristal and whispered to her, “What have you gotten us into?”
“Relax. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Cristal assured her.
Lisa didn’t look too appeased by her friend’s answer.
Mr. X spoke for another ten minutes, and afterwards, each person in the room was handed an application that was thirty-five pages long, and it needed to be filled out ASAP. Some recruits started to moan and complained when they were handed the paperwork. The look in Mr. X’s face showed he didn’t like the griping. He stepped toward the crowd and exclaimed, “If there is any disapproval of filling out these forms, I will come deal with you personally.”
He glared into the recruits’ eyes, revealing his anger, and the griping stopped. No one said a word. Already, everyone was afraid of him, and he saw it in their eyes. He would walk up to certain recruits and scowl heavily at them. Most would shy away and avert their attention elsewhere, afraid to make eye contact with him.
Mr. X said, “I see fear in most of your eyes. I do not like it. Fear is a flaw, a weakness, and it will not be tolerated during this training session. Our people, we do not believe in fear. Does everyone understand this?”
“Yes!” the recruits shouted.
Mr. X walked away.
The first pages of the application were standard—name, address, date of birth, social security number, previous jobs held if any, and so on. Page two was about their health, allergies, illness, recent HIV/AIDS testing, or any other STDs, any asthma, and so on. The next page inquired about hobbies, favorite places, past vacation spots, best friends, worst enemies, bank account information, et cetera. The other pages inquired about family, siblings, any arrests, any troubles, and asked about political affiliation: Republican, Democratic, or Independent. They asked if you had voted for President Obama, and if so, why and if not, why. They wanted to know what shows you liked to watch, favorite movies, sports and more.
Page fifteen asked, “If you had a million dollars, how would you spend it?” Page thirty-one asked, “Would you kill a friend for million dollars?” Page thirty-two asked, “Would you kill your parents for ten million dollars?” Page thirty-five asked, “Could you kill a stranger for any amount of money?”
The questionnaire was long and tedious. It almost took two hours for everyone to fill the entire thing out. It was a dreary process, but it needed to be done.
After the questionnaires were filled out, everyone was led downstairs to the church basement in single file. They were given a number and escorted into a different area. It seemed like they were in some Nazi training camp. Everyone had their headshots taken, and then they were told to take off their street clothes and each issued a white jumpsuit and sneakers. The changing room was coed. Men and women stripped down almost naked in front of each other. For many, it felt embarrassing, but the staff didn’t care. It was routine.
The girls kept close and stripped down to their underwear. Lisa covered her tits and private area, feeling like someone had violated her human rights. It felt like everyone was watching her. She felt like some animal in a cage and felt so humiliated. She truly started to regret coming along with Cristal and wished she had stayed behind with Sharon.
The recruits were watched closely as they peeled away their clothing and tossed everything to the floor. What kind of job interview is this? the girls thought. Everything had to go; no jewelry, and tattoos were thoroughly checked for any gang insignia or outrageous symbols. Tamar and Cristal went along with the program easily. Mona and Lisa, not so easily.
After the recruits were clad in their white jumpsuits and sneakers, they were handed another questionnaire. This time, it was only three pages long, and asked for their shoe size, sneaker size, waist measurement, and dress size. Then they had their fingerprints taken. The initial procedures in the church lasted a full day and night, and when late evening came, everyone was given a folder with their information. A white hood was thrown over each of their heads and then they were shuffled outside like cattle and placed on an idling bus parked in back of the church. They moved quickly and discreetly. They weren’t allowed to see where they were being taken.
Several armed guards were on the buses with the recruits, to make sure no one cheated and took a look to where they were being driven to. Ironically, classical music was being played on the bus, befuddling the passengers, and no one was allowed to sit next to someone they knew. Four buses were in use; Tamar and Cristal were on the first bus, but they were separated from each other. Cristal sat in the front in a window seat, while Tamar rode in the back. Mona was on the third bus, and Lisa was riding on the fourth bus. She felt alone and scared. She had the urge to cry, but she held back her tears and said a silent prayer.
No one was allowed to talk.
They sat like statues in their seats.
The ride was over four hours long and most recruits assumed they were either in Connecticut, Pennsylvania, or New Jersey. But in truth, they never left the state of New York. They were in Syracuse—in some rural area where the nearest town was over twenty miles away. The Commission called this place “The Farm,” because like a farm, they were to harvest the best and produce crops of killers in secret. It was a fortress resting on several large acres of land, nestled in the dense woods of upstate New York and as heavily guarded as the White House. The Farm was the breeding ground for some of the country’s best assassins.
Day Two
The group arrived at the training camp in the wee hours of the morning, which was a warehouse in a rural area of upstate New York. It was clean and high-tech with the latest amenities. Cameras watched every area of the complex, and towering, electric fences kept out any unwanted company.
One by one, the recruits piled off the bus and stood in one line. The hoods were still in place over their heads until every person was off the bus and escorted into the sprawling facility. The brisk morning air nipped at their white jumpsuits like a towel whipping. Even though it was early summer, the cold upstate air was nothing to play with. The men and women could hear the voices of those in charge. They were loud, rough, and intimidating. It felt like they were convicted felons being led into jail. The shouting, the harsh demands; some of the recruits had never experienced such treatment.
Cristal felt like she couldn’t breathe under the hood. Her fingers and toes were cold. She was hungry and hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. She wondered about her friends. She hadn’t seen them since they left the church. Immediately, the group was split up. Cristal couldn’t share a unit with Tamar, Lisa, or Mona.
The first procedure at the Farm was medical. One by one, each candidate went through a rigorous examination. Blood was taken from them several times, and they were issued shots from long syringes in both arms. The doctors checked their health methodically—eye exams, hearing,
dental and mental health—asking the candidates various questions on topics from colors to violence. X-rays were taken, and their diet was examined.
After the lengthy medical procedure, Cristal was blindfolded and the white hood was thrown over her head again, and she was pushed into the warehouse and then thrown into a dark, nondescript room and told to be silent. She couldn’t see. Everything was still, and the room felt dark and cold. She wasn’t sure if she was alone or amongst dozens of other people. Cristal leaned against the concrete wall, trying to remain strong, trying not to feel fear. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor, breathing sparsely.
Several hours passed before any activity happened. She had nodded off. Sleep was becoming her best friend, and the cemetery silence in the room became to some extent comforting. But then ice-cold water was thrown onto her and she hollered loudly.
“Wake up!” someone hollered.
“Wir schlafen nicht!” another male exclaimed in German.
More cold water was thrown on her, and Cristal hollered like she was being tortured. The hood remained on and she shivered uncontrollably. A third bucket of ice-cold water was thrown on Cristal. Her clothes became drenched and an arctic chill swept throughout her body. Unexpectedly, she heard a door slam. Once again, she was alone, wet, and cold. The dark and pain was engulfing her.
“Stay strong. Just stay strong,” she said to herself.
It was the next morning, but for Cristal, she didn’t know it was morning; there was no sunlight or any kind of light seeping into the ordinary room. She shivered. She had dried off a bit. Her stomach was growling loudly. She hadn’t eaten in two days.
Day three came, and it was the same. Cristal felt like she was about to pass out from starvation. She was ready to eat anything—rodents, insects, maybe chew on her own arm, and snack on her fingers. She had never been this hungry before.
Murdergram, Part 1 Page 12
