Ripper

by David L. Golemon

  A knock sounded at Jack’s door. Sarah stood and hesitated a moment and then looked down at Jack.

  “I love you.”

  Collins didn’t say anything; he just winked.

  Sarah went to the door and opened it but not before noticing that Jack didn’t respond when she had said she loved him. She looked up when she opened the door. Niles Compton stood there with a pair of crutches supporting him.

  “Lieutenant, may I come in?”

  “Of course,” she said as she stepped aside. “Would you like Jack…,” Sarah caught herself a bit too late, “the colonel to yourself?”

  “No, I think you better be here for this.”

  Sarah’s brows rose as she closed the door and worriedly looked at Collins who lay in bed bare-chested and bandaged heavily across his broken ribs. He was silent as once more he waited for the other shoe to drop on his head.

  Niles nodded at Collins and leaned against his desk.

  “Do you want a chair?” Sarah asked.

  Niles just shook his head no.

  “I’m no good at this Colonel.” Niles lowered his eyes. “So I guess I better just say it before … before I lose the courage.”

  “Just say it,” Jack said, keeping his wary eyes on the director.

  “Colonel, uh, Jack,” he said turning to the familiar. “Your sister Lynn was murdered in Baltimore last night—she and a friend of hers from Langley.”

  Sarah was stunned as she looked from Compton to Jack’s frozen features. He seemed not to know what to do with his eyes as he looked from the director back to Sarah and then quickly away again. He cleared his throat and then again swallowing several times.

  “What … what happened?” he finally managed to ask, avoiding Sarah’s look of shock.

  “The Maryland State Police say she and her companion were killed randomly after they had a flat tire after midnight two days ago.”

  Jack Collins went silent and remained that way for several minutes.

  “Would you excuse me? I have to call my … our mother.”

  Niles nodded and limped to the door as Sarah opened it. He didn’t use the crutches as he felt they would fail him at this, the worst possible moment.

  Sarah remained by the door, but Jack never looked up as he reached for the phone.

  After Jack had informed his mother of the death of her only daughter, he went silent for two days. Alice had volunteered to take Cally Collins back to D.C. to make arrangements for the family. Then the colonel clammed up. Sarah couldn’t reach him, and even when Carl Everett came to check on him and jokingly report on the progress of Lieutenant Ryan, the candy striper, Jack remained silent, only nodding that he heard what was said. Even when the president of the United States came into his room just before the debriefing Niles had ordered he remained almost totally mute, nodding his head and mumbling at the appropriate times in the conversation. He did that with everyone he came in contact with.

  * * *

  The conference room was only half full as most of the departmental managers were busy cleaning up the mess in their various departments from the recent attack on the complex. Niles Compton had decided to keep all of the information to be explained to the people meeting that day tightly controlled. The director had ordered a select few to hear Pete Golding explain, in theory, what they had been dealing with.

  Jack sat in his customary place at the opposite end of the long table facing Dr. Compton. His eyes were dark and still haunted as Everett came in and sat beside him. Sarah was three seats down from the president and chanced a glance at Collins, but he never looked up until the meeting started.

  Virginia sat next to Compton. He nodded his head, not making eye contact with anyone. The assistant director stood.

  “Okay, we have a lot to cover, and the president can only fool the Washington Post for so long before they discover he’s missing.”

  No one in the room laughed at her small joke except for the president. As he saw no one else, not even Charlie Ellenshaw, crack so much as a smile, he went as silent as the rest of the men and women present. Will Mendenhall, who was attending his first debriefing in the conference room, sat next to Gloria Bannister, whom Niles thought deserved to be in on the tale Pete had to relay because of her losing so much in the attack.

  “Pete,” Virginia said, “the floor’s yours.”

  “Thank you,” Golding said as he stood with pointer in hand. He strode to the main viewing screen and nodded his head at the navy signalman.

  “Perdition’s Fire,” Pete began, “has been kept a well-guarded secret for over a hundred years, but has been in existence for over three thousand years.” Everyone in the conference room exchanged glances at the claim Pete had just made. “The formula has been analyzed by Europa and our Event Group people at CDC and the Harvard School of Medicine. We also brought in the CSU School of Botany and the National Center for Genetic Research. The information is factual and indisputable.”

  The first slide provided by Europa appeared on the screen. It was of Lawrence Jackson Ambrose.

  “Our friend here did something truly amazing and also a hundred years ahead of his time. But somehow the good professor Ambrose lost his way. The man was brilliant but quite possibly the most insane person of his time.” Pete nodded and the next picture depicted confused those watching. “This is an official police report submitted and classified as top secret by the government of Great Britain. It concerns a series of murders that occurred in the year 1888 at a location in London called Whitechapel.” Pete saw the recognition in the faces around the table. Even the president leaned forward in his chair to read the hazy report from 142 years ago.

  Jack finally looked up and stared blankly at the screen. Everett and Sarah watched, but the colonel made no move to take part in the debriefing.

  “The report was filed by the metropolitan police, in conjunction with the chief medical examiner’s office in London. This document is part of the most unbelievable cover-up the world has ever seen. It all started with a writer of some renown doing research for a little book he was writing on aggressive behavior through the miracle of modern medicine. The name of the book researched was a novel we know today as The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and that author was Robert Louis Stevenson.”

  This bit of information caused another round of talking and exclamations around the table. Still Jack Collins remained silent even though he heard every word spoken.

  “It was Robert Louis Stevenson who originally tried to warn the metropolitan police about the true nature of just what they were dealing with.”

  “What is it we are looking at on the screen?” Virginia asked Pete.

  “This slide lists the autopsy reports of six women murdered in Whitechapel in 1888. These reports are in direct conflict with the reports filed by the medical examiner in Whitechapel. The local medical examiner listed the horrendous wounds received by these women. They were bad enough that anyone reading them would never suspect the police, or the British government, of trying to hide anything. That is where these reports come in.” Pete slapped the large screen with the pointer. “They were discovered buried in the archives of Scotland Yard and in the journal of Lawrence Ambrose himself, which the Event Group had in its possession for the past 120 years. But the real gold is the culpability of the British government in all of this that Europa uncovered through police sources directly.”

  “I take it you and your computer friend broke into their system to uncover these?” the president asked with a frown while gesturing to the reports on the large-screen monitor.

  “Yes, sir, that’s what Europa and I do.”

  Niles nodded his head, thankful that Pete stood up for himself and Europa against the snide remark of his friend the president.

  “What is not listed in the professor’s journal but can be found in the police archive reports is the fact that among the horrifying wounds received by these women in the tainted autopsy reports, each of the prostitutes listed as murdered had been preg
nant at the time of her death. The real reports state that the two-to-three-month-old embryos had been cut from the wombs of these ladies. The massacre of the women that ensued afterword was to cover up the fact of the missing embryos.”

  “Wait Dr. Golding. Are you saying that Jack the Ripper was responsible for this?” asked the president.

  “No, not the Jack the Ripper that has been presented to the world by the London constabulary, Mr. President, but Professor Lawrence Jackson Ambrose, the real Jack the Ripper or, if you like, the real Jekyll and Hyde. He murdered these women while under the influence of small doses of Perdition’s Fire so he could break the laws of man and science with a clear conscience. He collected the fetuses to be used in an experiment that should not have been possible at the time, but one that Europa has uncovered evidence of—the stem cell research that led to gaining strength, growth, and intelligence, all to be used as an additive to the food eaten by members of the British armed forces. That is exactly what he was hired to do. Make supersoldiers for Her Majesty’s government. Not crazed beasts as we saw here at the complex, but coldly calculating men with superior fighting strength and intelligence. That’s with small doses.”

  Everyone was stunned to silence as Pete went through his gathered evidence, from Queen Victoria’s letters ordering the hiring of Ambrose and the purchase of his advanced theory, to the cover-up that ensued. Even the photo analysis of the advanced equipment used by Ambrose to create a genetic monster for the ages, as they themselves had recently been witness to, was fully documented. The experts say Ambrose was a genius and a hundred years ahead of his time.

  “He was the first true geneticist,” Virginia commented.

  “Let’s skip to the point Dr. Golding. Do you and your outlaw computer know who sent in these mercenarys?” the president asked Pete, turning to Niles directly.

  “No. But we will find out who assisted them over here; I damn well guarantee that,” Niles said, almost challenging his old friend to deny his efforts in that regard. “I lost twenty-two men and women in this attack, and I will find the people responsible. Do you agree?”

  The president nodded his head.

  “Thank you.”

  With that the Event Group began in earnest to continue on with its work. Only now all 656 members of Department 5656 had the added incentive of finding out who the Americans were who assisted in the traitorous act of attacking their home.

  SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

  THREE DAYS LATER

  Jack stood next to his mother as the coffin was slowly lowered into the grave. The colonel was happy that Sarah and his mother Cally had hit it off so well and in such a trying time as this. Jack wondered if maybe one day his mother would have another daughter to help with her sorrow of losing Lynn.

  As Jack watched, he knew that his sister’s murder was not as random as the police made it out to be. Like the president, he never believed in coincidence. He had a gut feeling she had died because of him in some way. He felt responsible.

  Cally Collins reached out and took Jack’s arm, reaching over with her other hand to take Sarah’s on the opposite side. Together they strode over to where a very sore and weak Jason Ryan, alongside Will Mendenhall, Gloria Bannister, Virginia Pollock, Alice Hamilton, and finally, Captain Carl Everett, stood waiting for them.

  Jack saw Niles on his crutches with Pete Golding and Charlie Hindershot Ellenshaw III standing next to him. They were all dressed in their best black suits and looked as out of place as ever. Collins excused himself as Everett and Sarah joined him while Alice went to speak with Cally.

  Jack faced the director of Department 5656 who only nodded his head and reached inside his jacket pocket, bringing out a piece of paper and handing it to Collins.

  “Colonel, what would you like me to do with that?”

  Jack looked down at the resignation letter and handed it back to Niles.

  “Process it, I’m done,” he said as Sarah placed her arm through his.

  “Jack,” Ellenshaw said, no longer the goof he was a few years back when Collins had joined the Group, “tear it up. You need us, and we sure as hell need you.”

  “Sorry, Doc, but—”

  “Colonel, listen to what Niles has to say, will you?” Pete Golding asked.

  Collins took a deep breath and dipped his chin in surrender. Niles was going to say what he wanted to say.

  “The FBI recovered the vehicles used by the assault forces in Las Vegas. They found very little with the exception of these,” Niles said handing over two sheets of paper to Collins.

  “Recognize those, Colonel?” Pete asked for Niles as Jack studied the papers.

  “They’re privately generated satellite target tracking reports. No company name though.”

  “The tracking target, Jack, was you. Evidently that was how this Smith character tracked you to Nellis. You must have been tagged by those maniacs in Mexico during the rescue that night,” Niles finished.

  Collins shook his head, barely controlling his anger over the fact that he had been bugged and hadn’t even suspected it. He started to give the tracking reports back when Niles pushed them away and gestured for Collins to look at the reports again.

  “Jack, the reports are time and security stamped by a government agency that accepted them. The code is listed as one belonging to the CIA.”

  Collins was stunned, but not quite as much as the others that were standing there listening.

  “Someone at the CIA passed this information on to Smith and his assault team,” Sarah said, her own anger at the obvious betrayal showing in her voice.

  Compton watched Collins for the longest time as Jack continued to look at the two tracking reports with their computer-generated time stamps on their faces. Niles swallowed and got the colonel’s attention.

  “Jack, you have many duties at the Group, and if you would stay with the department and continue as the head of security, I swear to you that whenever you’re free, I’ll give you carte blanche to use any means at the Group’s disposal to find your sister’s killer. And I don’t mean to bring whoever it is to justice. You do it your way, and I’ll back you 100%. Everyone here will. Just use all of your skills and find them.”

  Collins swallowed hard. He looked at Jason, Will, Virginia, Niles, Pete, and finally Charlie Ellenshaw. He smiled and glanced at Everett, who just nodded his head. But it was Sarah who reached out and took the resignation form from Compton’s hand and tore into two, allowing the pieces to fall to the grass.

  “Alright,” Jack said as he took in not just his colleagues but his friends. “But on one condition,” Collins said with his jaw set firmly. “Because justice has to start somewhere, and I think I know just where it does.”

  * * *

  On a small rise overlooking the cemetery, Hiram Vickers stood next to Director of Operations Samuel Peachtree.

  “Imagine my stunned silence when I learned from the president himself that the brother of Lynn Simpson was a war hero and a favorite of the commander in chief?”

  “I read his file, he’s not that frightening,” Vickers said.

  Peachtree laughed, turned away from the gravesite, and started walking back to the limousine that was waiting for him.

  “You find that funny?” Vickers asked.

  “Tell me Hiram,” Peachtree said stopping and turning, “which file was it you read?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are an idiot aren’t you?”

  “I am still not intimidated by a man who only achieved the rank of colonel in his time with the army. Not very motivated is he? The president’s friend Collins is nothing but a once-upon-a-time tiger that has been declawed and placed out to pasture, buried at some desk where the army can keep track of him.”

  Peachtree smiled as he allowed his driver to open the rear door as he approached.

  “You know Hiram, the president explained to me in the Oval Office after he lamented on Ms. Simpson’s passing that Jack Collins is probably the single best combat soldie
r this nation has ever produced.” He smiled. “Maybe you should really try doing your homework sometimes on people who could bring us both down.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because if you did, you would know that Colonel Jack Collins won’t rest until he kills you. And that dear Hiram is from the mouth of the president of the United States himself.” Peachtree laughed as he sat down inside the limo. “Hell, he probably won’t rest until he kills both of us.”

  Samuel Peachtree closed the door and the limousine left in a cloud of dust, leaving Hiram Vickers alone to contemplate his fate if Collins found out he was behind his sister’s murder.

  EPILOGUE

  What is justice?

  This unapparent fairness

  supposed to combine rather than divide,

  just a word that likes to hide,

  this unapparent fairness,

  what is justice?

  —Aadil Malik

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT

  FIVE WEEKS LATER

  The man known as Colonel Henri Farbeaux sat in a chair across from none other than the attorney general of the United States himself. He had been read his rights and informed that the president had taken a personal interest in his case.

  Henri was read his rights for the third time under American law and the charges against him were read. Still feeling weak from his wounds received at the Event Group Complex deep beneath the Nevada desert, Henri really wasn’t interested in how many charges of murder and theft they could come up with.

  “Do you have anything to say at this time?” the attorney general asked, smiling that he was sitting across from the famous French thief and cold-blooded killer.

  “The jail complex in which I am currently residing has absolutely the worst cuisine I have ever sampled. Can you do something about that?”

  The attorney general smiled and then stood up with his two assistants.

  “Oh, we’ll get right on that Colonel,” the attorney general quipped. “The guards will take you back to city jail. Have fun getting acquainted with our local criminals. They don’t have quite the discriminating taste you have, but they’re a fun bunch of boys to spend a little quality time with.”