My eyes blinked as Ratliff phased into my vision. The knife was beginning to cut the skin along his throat. The pressure of the knife released while I gathered myself. A flashback. It hadn’t happened in years. I still had dreams on occasion and woke in my sleep, but this was long gone. A swift swing of the knife severed Ratliff’s right thumb and the upper portion of his index finger. “You still think I’m fucking playing by the books?!” I screamed.
Ratliff whaled in pain and terror as he stared at the blood spurting with each beat of his heart. “Fuck… Oh god!”
I picked up his fleshy bits and held them a few inches from his face. “This could have been avoided, but you had to doubt me!” I threw the severed flesh out of the cabin before I picked up a towel and wiped my blade, then my hands. “Who was pissed?”
“If I tell you, they’ll kill me!” he screamed.
“Look at the position you’re in. Your only chance of surviving this depends on you answering questions.” My finger rose and pointed to the pooling blood. “Tell you what, answer my question and I’ll fix that. It’d be a shame to have you bleed out.”
“Senator Wellis,” he blurted.
“Senator Wellis?” I asked. “As in the Virginia Senator Allen Wellis?” Ratliff quickly nodded his head repeatedly. That confirmed my suspicions that this corruption went far deeper than just the ASA. Our fucking elected officials were in on it. But why? I asked myself that over and over.
“Fix my fucking hand! I told you!”
The cold canister of the torch I had brought cooled my warm skin. I picked up a towel and approached Ratliff. “Open your mouth.”
“What—”
The towel interrupted Ratliff’s question, leaving him mumbling through it. “Searing flesh hurts. That’s so you don’t bite your tongue off. I may want to cut it out myself, later.” His whimpers and whines tortured my ears while I adjusted the flame on the torch. Seconds later the sound and smell of searing flesh were abundant, as well as his screams. The flame burnt his wounds and cauterized them, stopping the bleeding. Once I was finished, Ratliff was unconscious. I was finally getting somewhere, so I didn’t want him unconscious or dying. The adrenaline shot punctured his chest cavity and with a deep gasp, he woke up. “Almost lost you, there.”
“Stop… just, stop… Please,” he begged, the towel now laying in his lap.
“Stop? Sounds like you’re begging for your life.” My palm thundered across his face. “Did my sister beg for hers? Huh? You don’t get to beg so shut the fuck up!” Ratliff set there, whimpering, tears streaming down his face. “Tell me about the meeting tonight. When and where.”
“They’ll kill me… Please…”
Out of frustration, I took a deep breath then lit a cigarette. My lungs filled with smoke before I exhaled. “Ratliff, look at me.” His eyes raised to meet mine. He let out a howl as the lit cigarette jammed into his left eye. “Wrong fucking answer! I’ll fucking kill you the next time you speak if it isn’t what I want to hear!”
“God… Fine… Your sister’s compound. The shipping warehouse at eleven fifty.”
“So, my sister was probably working late and stumbled in?”
“That’s exactly what happened. She wasn’t supposed to be there that late. I swear to god it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“But it did.”
“I’m sorry. I swear to god if I could go back I’d try and stop it… Please.”
My fingers gripped the handle of my knife once more as I slowly stepped towards Ratliff. “You’ve been alright with it until someone finally held you accountable. You just do what you have to, you know, to get to where you want to be in life? Is that how you said it that night you tried dumping me over a fucking dam?”
“I have a little girl… An agent doesn’t make that much money until you’re high ranking. I had to take care of her…”
“So you’re alright with blood money?!” I screamed. “You’re alright with taking from others, even their fucking lives, so you can make a bit more?!”
“It wasn’t like that…” he pleaded.
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Your truck costs more than you make in a year. You weren’t looking out for your family. You were looking out for your fucking self!”
“Please… Please let me go,” he begged.
My knife cut the tape on his bindings. “Can you walk?” I asked.
Ratliff struggled to stand, his legs wobbling. He leaned over on me, struggling. “Thank you.”
With each step, I walked him closer to the cabin’s exit. We emerged outside on the narrow and grown-up road. Ratliff gazed into the wooded area as we stood facing the downward slope. “You know,” I said, my tone lowering. “I didn’t get to see my family again, either.” Ratliff began to turn his head towards me. The deadly edge of my blade ran across his throat, slitting it. His body began to go limp as the life poured out of him. A simple push and he went tumbling over the mountainside, never to hurt anyone again.
The hood to my trunk popped. The Kevlar vest fit tightly over my hoody. The NBC pouch strapped to my right upper thigh, secured to my belt. One by one, I filled my backpack with loaded magazines, CS grenades, then finally my mini-cassette recorder. The tape of Ratliff’s torture was there along with numerous blank tapes. The holster for my sidearm secured tightly along my left thigh, hooking to my belt. The cargo pockets of my black BDU’s were filled with magazines for it. I carried my M4 to the cab of my baby and laid it in the passenger seat.
I knew what I had to do; it wasn’t going to be easy. Kill every agent at that meeting and take the senator prisoner. With the evidence I sent Johnson, and Ratliff’s confession before I put him out of his misery, the senator would be the icing on the cake. He had to be taken alive. My car was left parked a few hundred yards from Angel’s old place of work. The tree’s and high grass would make it easy to not be seen, especially at night. I watched and waited for them to arrive. Green glowing light from my watch shined on my face; it was eleven fifty on the dot. Sure enough, ASA cruisers pulled in, followed by a black sedan. It was hard to make out the details, but I was sure the man in the sedan was Senator Wellis. The agents popped their trunks, carrying cases inside with Wellis following. A few moments later, some other vehicles pulled in. They appeared to be civilians… Maybe the civilians helped with distribution. Didn’t matter, they were criminals and I’d kill them all.
May 25th, 2026
Everyone at the meet had gone inside the warehouse by midnight. With soft and silent steps, I crept towards the doorway. Nobody was standing guard around the vehicles. Nobody was even at the door. They were sloppy. These meets… These deals must have been going on for a very long time. Complacency was rampant; that was something I could exploit. Still, I knew this wouldn’t be an easy fight. Several of them, all obviously armed, and one of me. Surprise was my best option.
A quick peek through the warehouse door revealed no one in the immediate area. The buckles on the NBC mask bag snapped loose. The canister was secured nice and tight. I slid the mask onto my head and tightened the straps before laying my palm on the canister. With a couple deep breaths, my mask was sealed. A twist of a switch and my thermal scope was ready to go. It wasn’t zeroed in, but I shot close to mechanical zero as it was; I’d still be effective in close quarters. My plan was simple; locate cover, assess the situation, identify the Senator, then hit them with CS grenades. Hopefully, they’d panic. The Senator more than likely had never experienced CS before. This mixture wasn’t fatal, but it would impair the unprepared. The agents had at least experienced it in the academy, but their training records showed that was it for most of them.
My neck twisted, popping. The light scratching sensation from the sling of my M4 gave me chills. It had been a long time since I experienced that rush. In TacSIX, it was always six of us; no more and no less, unless we suffered casualties. Sometimes our opposition would be entire checkpoints, outposts… Hell, we were dumped into Lakepark while it was being bombed. The Only
US forces present that deep in the capital. Chances were always slim that we’d come out alive, but we did. This was no different. That rush; that do or die feeling. I lived for it.
My eye peered out of the mask and down the scope. It was switched to the close quarters optic; even then it was difficult to aim with the mask, limited vision and all. Respirations pounded through the mask. The slow and steady sound was magnified in my ears. Dim overhead light from the street lamp shined down over the door. My back rested against the wall next to it; my hand slowly reaching for the handle. The mechanism released, and the door slowly opened. Once inside, I quietly shut the door and took in my surroundings. Racks with pallets of goods were all around me. Nothing that looked to provide good cover in a firefight. I peeked around the corner of a rack and down the center of the many aisles in the room. A larger bay door was on the other side with an access door to its right. They weren’t in this room. My weapon’s stock nestled itself tightly against my right shoulder while I moved down the center aisle. My back slid against the wall next to the door while my eyes peeked through the large square window.
The room was filled with crates sitting on pallets, stacked on top of one another. Half the lights in this portion of the warehouse were powered on, alternating in a pattern across the ceiling. It was a bit dim but luckily, I saw a shadow at the far end of the room. It was barely visible, that told me they were in the back left corner. Entering, I stayed low, moving down the right side of the warehouse. Their voices could be heard as I drew closer. After taking position against a crate, my eyes glanced towards them. They were about thirty-five meters away. Wellis was easily identifiable; only one wearing a suit. Two of the agents I recognized. Wilson was one and Sells was the other. The female agent that was present on the range. A shame she got dragged in on this garbage, but that made her scum like the rest. She was nothing more to me than a target that had to be eliminated.
“Where’s Agent Ratliff?” asked Wellis. “He’s always present at the exchange.”
“Hell if I know,” replied Wilson. “Reckon his truck is still parked down at Moe’s. Probably got shitfaced and passed out somewhere. If he doesn’t turn up in the mornin’, I’ll start worryin’.”
“Hey, man,” spoke one of the civilians. “I don’t like it when things are out of the ordinary.”
“Calm down, everything is fine,” Wellis reassured. “You got the stuff?”
“I do, Sir,” answered Sells. “Ten kilos. One thousand count of various opioid pills. One thousand count of Xanax, and three hundred grams of heroin.”
“Good,” replied Wellis.
I knew that I couldn’t peep out much or hold my phone out there, but maybe if I got it out, I could at least get an audio recording. Quietly, my fingers slid into my back pocket and pulled the phone out. I opened the camera and pressed record as I continued to listen.
“Jamie, show me the money,” demanded Wellis. The sound of clicking cases opened shortly after. “Is it all there?”
“All one point five mil,” replied Jamie, a civilian. “Always a pleasure helping protect and serve.”
“Shut up,” scoffed Wilson. “Only reason we sell it to you for so cheap is because we can’t sell it ourselves.”
“Ever since that bastard got the presidency a couple decades ago…” added Wellis before trailing off into silence for a moment. “Well, me and my colleagues, as well as the ASA have been happy to facilitate if it makes up the difference in our pay cuts.”
Wilson chuckled. “And the greater ASA is happy to oversee these deals for a tidy share.”
“Jamie,” said Wellis. “Are there any of these… Southern ladies late on their payments? I’ve got an anxious buyer in Saudi Arabia.”
“Everybody been making good on what they owe,” replied Jamie. “I’ll see what I can round up for next month, though.”
I shut the phone off and returned it to my back pocket. Those bastards weren’t just supplying drugs to dealers, but they were selling off addicts who couldn’t pay for their fix. I was disgusted. It’s a shame I couldn’t blow Wellis’ brains out, but I needed him alive. My eyes peeked once more at their positions. Wellis was in the center giving me a clear shot. He needed to be alive but wounded was fine. Thoughts raced through my head as I planned my move. I’d toss all three grenades that hung in their pouches on my Kevlar vest. Before the gas had enough time to disperse and obstruct visibility, I’d put a round or two into Wellis’ legs. He wasn’t running. The others would no doubt try to return fire, I’d take cover for a few seconds until the gas had enough time to impair them. If that didn’t work, I’d do what we did in the military when shit went south; flexecute.
The M4 hung at my side while I pulled the grenades from my pouch. My quivering finger wrapped around the pin of the first grenade. I pulled it and tossed the grenade. The next pin pulled free just as the sound of the clanging canister struck the concrete floor.
“What the hell?!” shouted Wellis.
I tossed the second grenade as the sound of the dispersing CS gas spread through the warehouse.
“CS!” screamed Wilson as the second grenade landed.
A swift turn led me into one final grenade toss. My M4 raised as my eyes peered down the sight at the heat signatures. Respirations stopped; no inhale or exhale, and with a squeeze of the trigger followed by the muffled pop of a round passing through the suppressor, Wellis was down. Once more I squeezed, putting another round into his leg. The gas was thickening as the coughing and hacking of my targets increased. The agents started firing wildly while I slid back into cover. Then my mind began working once more. They couldn’t see and were blindly firing in my general direction. I was going to flank them.
The sights of the M4 stayed up while I navigated between the crates. The center aisle was beginning to cloud with the smoke. A civilian staggered down the aisle. One squeeze, and he fell. The civilian was carrying a briefcase that fell with him and bounced a couple times before popping open. Stacks of cash fell out and scattered around him promptly. My sights lowered on the civilian and I fired once more, ending his life.
More stray gunfire fired off towards my previous position while I moved through the center aisle and across the room. The gas was thick now, I couldn’t see well through the haze, so I took position against the wall and followed it. Peering through my scope, the heat signatures were easily identifiable. Wellis was on the ground and the others were flailing around frantically. My respirations quickened as I closed on their position. My weapon delivered a round into the nearest two heat signatures in quick succession. They dropped to the ground while I moved closer. With urgency, I emerged into the heart of the gas cloud and put rounds into each standing signature, dropping them. My sights bounced to each target, most still, some still twitching, rolling, whatever. The ones still alive were coughing and gagging.
The spewing grenades were easy to find by looking for the billowing gas. I kicked them away and grabbed the Senator’s coat, dragging him to a somewhat clear area of the warehouse. He coughed and gagged, struggling to gasp for air. Wellis was obviously in some pain, judging by the smeared blood left on the floor when dragging him. The prick stared up at me, gazing at my mask. “Who—” he coughed, interrupting his pathetic attempts to talk. “Who are you?” he finally asked.
After glancing back, I saw that the gas cloud was beginning to clear from the other bodies. My hand reached up and pulled my mask away. “Logan, Thomas Lee. Former TacSIX operative. Former Lieutenant-Commander of the ASA and you are under arrest.”
“Logan…” he coughed. “You’re dead…”
Immediately, I slung my weapon to the back and drew my sidearm. My footsteps were loud and profound as I approached the bodies. Three of the civilians were moving. Three pulls of the trigger and they ceased. Two ASA agents were left alive. Sells and Wilson. Sells laid before me, gunshot wound to the mid-section. “Wh… Why?” she asked.
The only answered she received was a bullet to the head. My aim shifted to Wils
on. Blood was oozing from his mouth as he coughed and gagged. The round must have pierced his lung or something. Didn’t matter, he’d be dead soon enough with a wound like that. I crouched down to him as his quivering eyes snapped to my face. He struggled to speak but choked on his own blood. “You killed my sister, you fuck.” Wilson coughed and gagged more as the barrel of my weapon pressed firmly against his forehead. “If you hadn’t killed my sister, maybe I’d pull the trigger and grant you mercy.” My weapon snapped and pointed at his boot, firing a round clean through. “But, all I have to offer is pain.” I stood and stepped over his soon to be corpse and returned to the senator. “Suffer. You’ll be dead in a couple of minutes,” I said, walking away.
“Get up,” I commanded. Wellis looked up at me, then away. He was an older guy; not what I’d call elderly, but older. My weapon pointed at his head. “I won’t ask again.”
“You’re a monster!” he shouted.
“If I’m a monster, you helped create that monster. Now get up.”
Wellis glanced at his leg. He snapped his head up to me. “You shot me, twice! I can’t!”
My sidearm slid into its holster. The feeling of his ridiculously expensive suit graced my hands as I jerked him up. “You’re up. Now walk!” Wellis staggered a few steps before I grabbed him and let him lean on me. “Pathetic.”
“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, stuttering.
“I’m not, but this country probably will once all this goes public.”
“You’ve no proof.”
I removed my phone and started playing back the audio. “I particularly like the bit about the southern ladies. The other stuff about the ASA and your colleagues is pretty good, too.” Wellis groaned as we exited the warehouse. “Keys. Now.”
Wellis reached inside his jacket and pulled out his car keys. His quivering hand reached me the jingling keys. “We’re taking your car if you don’t mind.”
A Tommy Logan Story Page 19
