“Aw shit you gotta be kidding,”
“Nope, not at all, and I bet that is her just entering the building.”
“And do we have a suitable sound clip for her?”
“How is water running into a bathtub?”
“Lovely, just lovely,”
D and I are watching Yaminah as she moves up through the building. She is stopped by the shaggy guy on the second floor. And at the head of the stairs on the third floor the big dog gets up and moves to the door. It can sense or smell she is there.
“Have we got a thunder count D?”
“I’m on it,”
A gentle knock on the door, who is it, in Arabic comes from D. using Hashim’s voice. A gentle response, and we unlock the door and D starts the water running in bathtub sound clip.
Yaminah enters the room and closes the door, cocking her head to the sound of running water.
“Wait...5..4..3..2..1..shoot!”
Thunder crashes, the Glock jumps and Yaminah drops to the floor. Her hood pushes back from her face. She is young and pretty, and I get a surge of guilt which slowly turns to a burning anger. What the fuck kind of religious freak culture radicalizes pretty girls to waste their lives doing such completely ignorant terrorist activities?
“Matt, your vital signs are spiking, you ok,”
“No I am not ok! I am fucking outraged these Islamic Muslim terrorist diseased rat cocksuckers put me in a position that I killed this young girl.”
“Not now Matt, we need to get our ass’s out of here.”
I move into the hallway, and as sure as hell two steps later the door opens and out bounds the dog with the owner clutching onto a leash. The dog has us immediately, head drops, fangs come out, hair bristles, tail drops and the beast lunges to the end of the leash in our direction growling. The owner is yanked off balance, I have no time for this shit and I am way past pissed off anyway, I shoot them both. “Thunk, thunk!” D doesn’t say a word. I go down the stairs and just as before the shaggy headed bugger sticks his head out.
“This is for Yaminah, and the dog upstairs!” and I shoot the cocksucker in the face spreading his brain matter on the door.
It’s quiet the rest of the way downstairs and out of the building. The other two warm bodies have not moved, sleeping I suppose. I jog back down the alley really not giving a damn if I am observed or not. The rain has increased in volume and ferocity; no one will notice a moving “hole in the rain”. I latch into the quad harness and D spools up the engines and we rise up out of the squalor and stink of the alley in the rain and into the darkness of the night.
Chapter 25: Discussion and Confession
Back at the truck when the equipment is serviced and stored away we gather in front of the wall of monitors.
“The operation was smooth, I show no signals or alarms other than the ghostly images of our strawman we injected into the system, so on that front we are covered and secured.” says D. “And there has been no communication chatter yet to suggest the bodies have been found. No doubt the alarms will be triggering huge activity straight away and the two sleeping people in the building will be killed by the terrorists during interrogation and follow up.”
“We are very fortunate to have been able to collect the remaining two contracts in one location. It’s is very fortunate for us, saves us a ton of work tracking these people down.” adds Frosty
“It went much better than I thought it would actually, given the complexity of some of the details. Full credit to D who handled all the timings on things I don’t understand. I don’t mind shooting male diseased rats but it bothers me to have to shoot a pretty young woman. But it’s just an indignation and anger point with me, and I can get by it.” I say.
“Yaminah had made her choice and was a product of her family and their cultural teachings. She might as well have come into the room with an AK47 on full auto. It’s the same thing, as she was hell-bent on killing you or any enemy one way or another. In this case her smuggling expertise and her contacts for moving men and machinery was what was going to kill you and many others in the form of explosions, suicide bombers, and so on.” states Frosty.
“Yeah I know,” I sigh. “All of us are products of family teachings, community and surroundings teachings, including the physical construct. I know and understand how it works. It’s just I have very positive feelings about killing male Islamic Muslim terrorists, but some remorse for terminating a pretty young woman. And the dog for that matter, it was a damn nice dog.”
“Matt, are you measuring your feelings for shooting pretty women and dogs as similar, in the same breath.” inquires D. “Women are not dogs you know.”
“Jesus D, not at all. I have much more remorse over terminating Yaminah than I do for terminating the dog, if we are measuring levels of remorse. However you need to realize the Islamic Muslims terrorists and their four hundred odd year old dogma teachings do consider women and dogs are at about the same level. And women are treated accordingly!”
“Guys, there is no black and white in such matters as much as we would like to color it so. Humans are creatures of war, even in peacetime they fight and compete over everything they can. In most, if not all incidents of such behavior, the semi-innocents associated with such people are injured. As much as we might like to we cannot change human nature. It is what it is and we work and do our thing within the boundaries of society’s construct.” says Frosty as he slips into his coat and goes outside.
“I know,” I sigh. “Sometimes what we do just sucks, sometimes it’s just in conflict with my upbringing, my personal culture, but most times I’m fine with killing terrorists.”
“Matt, there’s something you haven’t told us isn’t there?” says D.
“About what D?”
“About your past, your University degrees, and about Rachel.” replies D softly.
I’m quiet; memories flood back into my conscious, wonderful memories, terrible horror memories, hurt, blinding anger, and the emptiness of the aftermath.
“Ah shit D, I guess it was only a matter of time, how did you find out?”
“By accident actually, and then by investigating very thoroughly. You covered it up well. But I monitored flashes of some memories you were having during a nightmare. It made me start thinking and I searched your past more closely. You have a Master’s degree in Sociology; you were doing leading edge work in the field until the incident. After Rachel died you disappeared and joined the military didn’t you? It’s why you have the ability to provide such insightful and completely analytical and real world answers to questions I have about human behavior. That’s also why Frosty wanted you to work with me. He doesn’t know for sure but he suspects your education credentials and he knows a good thing when he finds it. But he doesn’t know about Rachel does he?”
“No, he doesn’t, very few people know.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No...yes...I’ll share with you D as we are very close. But I prefer it go no farther, please.”
“I’m fine with keeping it to myself, and you are under no obligation to tell me Matt.”
“Thanks D, I owe it to you. This killing of the girl Yaminah brings back some very bad memories. Rachel was the woman of my dreams; we met in University and became a couple very quickly. She was just...perfect and for the first time I felt I became a complete person. We were together for two years while we attended and worked at the University. I had accepted a summer work placement job in Paris and Rachel came with me. It was heaven or as close to heaven as it could be. One night we are walking home from a little Bistro we went to often and three gangbangers got in our faces. They were making comments about how they were going to fuck Rachel and make me watch. One of them grabbed her and I hit him very hard on the side of the head. Turned out I broke his neck, meanwhile the other two pulled out knives and we got into a very ugly knife scrum. In the brawl Rachel was stabbed, I killed the other two pukes but got cut up badly. By the time the police got there
Rachel had bled to death. Later after I got out of hospital I found out from the Police the three pukes were not gangbangers at all but were members of a local Islamic Muslim terrorist cell the Police had been having problems with. It was the end of my Sociology work; I grieved Rachel for a long time and still do, and I have a terrible anger about what happened. So I joined the military for the express purpose of killing Islamic Muslim Terrorists wherever I could find them.”
“Jesus Matt, I’m so sorry, I had no idea!”
“I should have told you earlier, but I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with it again. It’s better that you know as you can understand me better and why I do what I do.”
“I won’t say anything to Frosty, Matt.”
“Thanks D”
I rest, D is in my mind, I feel better that I have told D about my past and Rachel, we mentally talk about feelings, talk of injustice, talk of why the world is as it is, talk of what we do, and attempt to come to grips with some of the dirty work we have chosen to do. I’m more at peace than I have been for a long time; D’s presence is soothing for me. I sleep a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 26: Juthamah
The effects of the ghostly grainy security camera images of Juthamah, the nightmare, are spectacular. The local papers and Internet News are all over it. D and the sisters have created a literal firestorm in the spook and security communities. Confusion and speculation is running rampant in every direction. The top secret secure encrypted intelligence communications D can monitor are full of Juthamah discussions and his false records of activities D has placed in strategic servers. His audit trail implicates him into a number of our recent missions and others which we have had nothing at all to do with.
“D, you’re are a genius at seeding the false info with just enough credibility to make the powers that be have to chase all the iterations and innuendoes to earth.” says Frosty with a huge grin.
“Well thanks, but you know the collective spook/intelligence environment is so sensitive it was very easy to incorporate Juthamah. It’s like they were looking for him or someone like him all along.” smiles D.
“Of course they always are.” replies Frosty. “As it provides easy answers to perplexing questions and awkward situations to which they don’t have an explanation. Juthamah is and will continue to be very popular. I expect we have gained several months of distraction time.”
“You rule D.” I grin, giving her a thumb up.
“I rule what. What does rule mean, is it an expression?” puzzles D.
“Yeah, it’s like your capabilities have dominated the situation.” I reply.
“Good grief, you humans certainly have communication issues to add to your litany of challenges, why do your words have multiple meanings?” chuckles D.
“I’m sure it was designed that way along with plenty of emotions just to make it difficult for smart AI systems like you D.” I chuckle.
“Guffaw”, says Frosty.
“Well speaking of challenging and such things does anyone feel like a little trip to Brussels?” asks D.
“What’s in Brussels?” asks Frosty.
“Apparently an Islamic Muslim Terrorist Cleric who needs to be blow up.” replies D.
Chapter 27: Brussels
Brussels, Belgium the industrial capital of Europe. All the business leaders and political forces swimming in the milieu which is the heartbeat of Europe are focused in Brussels. For that reason it is the center of Islamic Muslim terrorist’s attacks. Brussels represents a physical presence of all the things which drive the terrorists into a hysterical, slobbering frenzy of jihad activities.
“Our employers want this guy blown up in public. They want to make a statement these insane diseased rats will not be tolerated and killed on sight. Brussels has had enough terrorist shit and they have run out of patience and the usual laborious legal processing of these rats. They want a graphic example now!” says D.
“Not surprised,” says Frosty, “There have been some very nasty attacks there and the terrorist presence is very high. The general public is annoyed, and scared. Even going grocery shopping is a frightful experience. They are demanding the police and governments contain and handle the situation. Unfortunately results have not been forthcoming.”
“How do we propose to get nice and personal with this diseased rat and convince him he needs to wear an explosive belt?” I ponder.
“We don’t need to, we’ll adjust the pulse rifle and make a long sniper shot and blow him to hell that way!” smiles D.
“And how long is a very long sniper shot by your standards? I ask.
“Oh, five thousand yards or so is starting to get interesting.” replies Frosty.
“Holy shit, and how am I going to see this diseased rat at such a distance?” I ask.
“Closed circuit expensive electronic cameras designed for very long distances. They are actually surprisingly common in the TV and movie business.” replies D.
“We’ll adjust the power of the pulse rifle to do the damage we need at that range, then mount it to a tripod synched to the camera lens assembly, and trigger the rifle remotely while you focus in on the asshole by twiddling a button or two on the monitor.” says Frosty.
“Gee, you make this sound too easy guys.” I remark snidely.
“Well, relatively speaking it is not complex with the tools available and the Pulse rifle. We should be able to make short work of this piece of shit.” replies Frosty.
Are we going to do a test fire at that range? I ask.
“We would normally, but trying to find an area where we can do so in Brussels increases our risk substantially. So I will be running the simulation of the shooting with the help of the sisters and you can practice on the simulator. The hardware and associated machinery will be sorted out and solid by the time you are ready.” replies D.
“Where are we going to hit him and how do we keep him from moving?” I ask. “Even with the extreme speed of the Pulse rifle at twelve thousand feet per second, if he moves during the one and a half seconds while the shot is enroute we will miss.”
“The information package I have on this diseased rat says he often speaks in the free speech park at rallies on Sundays. He will be by and large motionless to keep his mouth close to the microphone while he is talking. And as an added bonus he will have many of the party faithful to witness his execution. So it’s a win all around.” smiles D.
“Have we got a location to shoot from?” I ask.
“Nothing specific as yet, but some possibilities, we need you to suit up over the next couple of evenings and we’ll take some little scenic tours with the quad copter and select the final firing sight.” replies D.
It’s overcast, a late fall day and the wind is cold. Heavy gray clouds scud across the sky, it’s almost half light. A monochromatic day, no colors, no leaves on trees, just dull cold gray with threat of rain, I can smell the moisture in the air. Brussels is a city of frequent ominous stone buildings of ancient architecture complete with glaring gargoyles watching down from the parapets on the activities of the residents. A fitting mood and setting for what is about to happen, I muse to myself.
We have selected a stone gargoyle equipped building five stories tall, the roof is flat and equipped with a mechanical building built around the top of the elevator shaft. It contains the necessities for the building, water supply, HVAC, security and elevator electronics. I have set a small platform up against the wall of the mechanical building, so the Pulse rifle and electronic cameras have line of site on the park. The monitors and remote fire controls are on the roof beside the platform where I am squatting, preparing, watching and waiting.
“All set Matt?” asks D.
“Yup, I’m watching the park and the little podium, and all set to fire, but I need a target.”
“I’m monitoring the conversations and the target will be speaking very soon. Let him get settled and into his speaking rhythm before you take him.”
“I’ll be on him, just give me
the word.”
The target is a large heavy set man with the traditional black prayer hat, full beard, wire rimmed spectacles over wild psychotic eyes, down turned mouth, black sarong covering his upper and lower body. No idea if he is wearing body armor, but it isn’t going to matter anyway. He gets into his oration full song quickly, standing on the small podium, screaming into the microphone, and flecks of his spit are flying as he waves his arms and emphasizes some very important aspect of his presentation.
The powerful lens, electronic camera, tripod and pulse rifle are all linked and solidly mounted on a platform above me and just high enough for a line of sight to the park some 4970 yards away. Below the platform and out of sight I make delicate adjustments to vertical and horizontal positioning of the reticle. The thin red lit cross hairs of the reticle rest in the middle of the chest of the screaming diseased rat cleric, I am ready.
“All set D, just give me the word.” I murmur.
“Set here, Send it!” comes the soft reply from D.
I carefully touch the red fire button on the remote.
“Thunk” says the Pulse rifle.
On the monitor I see the pulse impact the diseased rat at the moment he has his arms wide and is screaming at the top of his lungs. With a very loud wet “sploot” he explodes in a cloud of red mist and chunks of flesh, his head is ripped off and flies end over end up in the air trailing streams of blood, his left arm is ripped off and tumbles into the crowd, his chest and right arm are torn off his lower body and thrown to the right, his stomach and intestines explode in a dull brown fog color, and his pelvis and legs flop backward and lay trembling and kicking on the ground. His blood, flesh, fluids, and fecal matter are blown onto the crowd for 40 feet in all directions. He is totally disintegrated!
A half second of stunned silence, then screaming mayhem ensues as the assembled crowd thrashes amongst itself attempting to run in any direction, every direction. Flailing, fighting, falling, hysterical people tumbling over one another in complete panic. People lying on the ground knocked down by the crowd or from being hit from parts of the exploding diseased rat cleric.
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