Operation

by Tony Ruggiero

  Stone had been prepared with all the false stories to tell the little man. But the little man wanted to feel important for some reason and spout his philosophical bullshit to make a point. Stone saw this happening and tried his usual soothing lies upon him. But it hadn’t worked. The little man just went on and on. Stone sat and listened to the little man with the neatly trimmed and polished fingernails, the hands that appeared to be as smooth as a woman’s, the slight lisp in his voice and wearing a suit that even Stone couldn’t afford. Finally the little man said the magical words—the few words that could get right to the heart of a man like Stone; a man that had devoted his life to serving his country by killing the bad guy—the only real true diplomacy on the face of the earth. He remembered the words the little man said…

  “There isn’t a place for old warriors like you anymore…the military is an obsolete arm of a dying body from an age where men were uncivilized.”

  Stone remembered smiling at the little man—just before lunging across his desk and grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive suit jacket and screaming at the little man. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch! What the hell do you know about me or what I do for my country? I’ll tell you what you know—not a goddamned thing that’s what! You masturbate at home or in whatever sleazebag bar you go to in the safety and security that I provide. Or is it when you’re riding some other man and doing some rump wrangling that you sing God Bless America!” Stone smiled as the little man in his grasp turned white with fear. When the smell of urine reached his nostrils, the fact that the little man had just peed in his expensive designer suit, Stone felt fulfilled. “Just what I thought—you candy-assed prick. If only you had a fucking clue of the things I have done and what I will keep on doing to keep my country safe from the bastards in the rest of this world—you probably wouldn’t be able to sleep—even when you were spooning with your boyfriend.”

  Commander Scott had rushed into the room upon hearing the commotion and untangled Stone’s hands from the accountant’s lapel collars. After some soothing by Scott and the offer of some clean pants to the little man as well as his promise to stay in the room; the meeting continued, but with Stone only replying in a single word, “Classified.”

  Less then an hour after the meeting had finished, the phone calls began, each one ascending in the chain of command; the last one from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, summoning Stone to his office in Washington for an explanation of what the hell he thought he was doing by abusing someone with Congressional authority over funding. As the anger and realization of what he had done settled in upon Stone, he knew he had finally gone too far.

  He got up, poured himself another drink and drank deeply. He was in between gulps when he heard the sound of the light being turned off behind him. As he turned in that direction, he was grabbed and thrown to the floor. The glass of Scotch flew and shattered against the wall. Stone hit the floor hard and rolled several feet before coming to a stop. He tried to get his bearings. The only light in the room was the filtered light from the street lamps, which plastered everything in a dark gray. As he looked in the direction of the attacker, he could make out a dark figure but could not discern any features.

  “Who are you?” he asked as he tried to get back on his feet. Between the surprise of the attack and the Scotch he had consumed, Stone stood slowly but was quickly regaining his senses as he prepared to fight. The adrenaline and excitement was coursing through his veins and pushing the alcohol aside. Stone couldn’t help but feel a smile creep across his lips. The idea of fighting someone, perhaps killing someone, was very appealing to him right now.

  The figure said nothing. In the dim light, Stone thought that his attacker moved its arm as if reaching for something from a bag it carried. Then the arm swung in an arc and Stone heard something land at his feet. Without taking his eyes from the gray figure, he knelt down and picked it up. When he had it in his hand, he looked down at it and recognized it immediately. It was one of the collars that had been designed by Commander John Reese to control the vampires.

  “Where did you get this?” he spoke. “This is—”

  Before Stone could finish his sentence, the figure in front of him blurred in movement and he felt a wince of pain on the side of his neck. He reached up and touched the spot on his neck. His fingers felt the area of skin that had been ripped open in a long gash. He drew his hand away from the moist sticky feeling. When he looked at his hand in the grayish light, he saw it was covered with the dark liquid which he assumed was his own blood. He looked in front of him and saw the figure was back to its original position. He smiled as he tossed the collar device back at the figure.

  “Nice move. Pretty fast, aren’t you? Score one for the bad guy,” Stone said in a calm voice. “Are you going to tell me where you got that collar from?”

  Silence.

  “That’s okay. Don’t bother.” Stone decided he would try and lull his attacker into making a mistake by talking for a while before he made his attack. “I see what’s happening here. I ruffled some feathers today, didn’t I? Becoming too much of a risk for some people. Time to get rid of the old war horse, is it?”

  Silence.

  “Why don’t you speak? You’re going to kill me anyway, so what does it matter? I’m just an old man living in an age that no longer needs my profession. Is there no pity in this world? Is there no compassion?” As the last syllable rolled off of his tongue, he charged at the figure.

  Stone was a fit man for his age. He worked out every day and was in better shape then most of the men half his age. He was quick on his feet and had maintained and even embellished upon the skills he had learned as an Army ranger; especially his skills on how to kill quickly.

  As in most life and death situations, one sees things more clearly because of the adrenaline high that accompanies it. One’s own actions also seem to slow down to a crawl. Stone experienced this as he charged the figure. He did what any smart and well-trained attacker would do; he prepared for the figure to break to either side to avoid his attack. But the figure didn’t move. With each step Stone took, he expected the break, but it never came. Instead, the figure met Stone head on.

  Stone weighed two hundred ten pounds and was moving with good momentum at the figure. He fully expected to topple his attacker and gain the advantage. But when he was within arms reach of the figure, he was brought to an abrupt stop by the attacker’s outstretched arms, which felt like steel girders. He tried to bat the arms that grasped him by his shoulders, but they didn’t budge. Stone’s immediate and reflexive defensive action kicked in. He used his legs to try and kick out and even break his attacker’s legs. This too was ineffective. Stone fought to keep his fear at bay, but he knew it was time for last-ditch efforts.

  Stone drew back his head and brought it forward in an attempt to head butt his attacker, hoping that he would not knock himself unconscious. He felt a solid hit with his head and was able to fight off the sensation to pass out from the blow. He felt confidant that the blow had been sufficient and for a brief instant he thought he would be successful. But his attackers grip didn’t falter. That was when Stone knew he would most likely die in the next few moments if he didn’t break free.

  Turning his head toward one of the arms of his attacker, he jerked his head toward the arm and bit into it with all the strength he could muster. He knew what blood tasted like: he had successfully tried this maneuver in hand-to-hand combat training in his younger days. Blood has a very distinct taste to it: coppery, yet almost sweet, but still the human psyche requires some sort of preparation to the unnatural act of tasting it. He prepared himself as he bit down harder and harder. But when his mind registered the taste, it was nothing like he remembered. The taste that entered his mind was of such a rotten and putrid state that he was forced to release the grip of his teeth on the flesh and spit the blood out. He spat and spat, but the taste wouldn’t go away.

  The attacker remained silent. One single thought went through Stone’s mind. I’m goi
ng to die. With that realization, he no longer cared about anything else but to see the face of his executioner. It was a morbid act which he did not understand, but the motivation was clear. He stood only arms length away, yet the darkness that shrouded the figure in front of him still prevented him from getting a good look at his attacker’s face. “Who are you? What are you?”

  Silence again. The attacker raised one arm and removed something from its face. As the shadow of the attacker’s arm passed over its face, Stone saw the red glow of its eyes: his attacker had been wearing something over its eyes to hide the glow of them. Just like…Stone couldn’t help but laugh at the realization of what it was that he was facing.

  “You!” Stone cried, the spittle flying from his lips. “You—that Navy son-of-a-bitch lied when he said you were all dead. I should have guessed. He was a soft-hearted bastard. He thought I was abusing your kind. HA! You are meant for only one thing and you know it. You’re a killer. A perfect killing machine. All you care about is death because without it—you will not survive. I gave you a purpose—to kill the dregs of society that poison the free world with their drugs. So what does he do? Stupid shit Navy Commander John fucking Reese sets you loose to kill…me. Why? Does it give you pleasure to kill the one that enslaved you. Do you have feelings? This is so damn funny…shit…that it should be your kind. I made you what you are! You think getting rid of me will end it? You’re in for a rude awakening my friend. There are more of you where you came from—remember that. It’s already begun. I’ve outfoxed everyone! Make sure you tell Reese that. Yeah…tell him and let’s see how long he lasts this time. They will use your kind as well. You’ll see…you’ll see.”

  Stone stared into the eyes of his attacker. “What the hell are you waiting for? Just do it, damn it! You stupid son of a bitch! Have some respect for a servant of this country. I love my country and I shall die knowing that I did the right thing even if it included an unholy aberration such as the likes of y—”

  Everything suddenly went dark for Stone. The last conscious thought he had was a numbing, yet calming sensation on his neck, and the smell of something familiar. At first his mind told him it was what he had expected earlier, the smell of blood—but to Stone, it smelled like perfume. He smiled as he drifted toward death.

  * * * *

  Stone’s attacker let his body fall to the floor. It was almost done. Following the instructions that had been given, the attacker picked up the collar and fastened it tightly around Stone’s neck. Looking at the man with the collar caused a momentary smile to appear on the attackers face.

  We all have our burdens to bear, don’t we? Your God bears the sins of the world on a cross, you bear the responsibility of a patriot by wearing a collar.

  The smile was quickly replaced with a more determined look as it pondered what Stone had said.

  There were others? What did this mean? And who was this other man that knew of it—this Navy Commander John Reese?

  No time for questions—not now. But these questions would be revisited later because they intrigued the attacker. There was something else yet to be done before the evening was over. General Stone’s assistant, Commander Scott, also required a visit this evening to complete the puzzle and remove the obstacles.

  There will be others…there always are. Some call them patriots, some call them threats. Was there really a difference? Perhaps…

  She finished what she had come to do.

  Chapter Sixty-two

  “Reese. John Reese. How the hell are you?” the voice said on the telephone.

  “Barkley? Is that you?” Reese asked, as he switched the phone to his other ear. “You son-of-a-bitch, it’s good to hear from you!”

  Reese pictured Barkley in his mind and he felt himself smile. Barkley was good people.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Barkley said. “I’m working on the Army medical staff at the Pentagon. I’m in Norfolk on some business and I heard some news and thought about you, so I figured I’d give you a call. How long has it been?”

  “Hell, it’s been about a few months. What news?” Reese asked.

  “You didn’t hear about General Stone? It was in all the news, on television, the whole bit.”

  “No. I’ve been busy working on my book, kind of wrapped up in it. So what are you talking about?”

  “He’s dead. General Stone is dead.”

  “Dead? What happened?” Reese asked.

  “They found him in his home yesterday.”

  “I figured a man like that would never die. Too damn stubborn.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Barkley agreed.

  “What did he die from?” Reese asked.

  “Are you sitting down? You’re not going to believe this?”

  “Come on. Tell me.”

  “Someone drained all the blood out of him.”

  “What?” Reese sat down. No, this couldn’t be happening. Why would they go after him?

  “You heard me. The blood was drained from his body.”

  “You mean like vampires?”

  “Well, that’s what it was made to look like.”

  “What do you mean made to look like?”

  “The killer tried to make it look that way, but they found his blood in bottles at the killers’ home.”

  “Damn!” Reese said. He found himself relaxing a little.

  “You haven’t heard the best part yet,” Barkley teased.

  “What?”

  “They believe the killer was Commander Scott. They found his fingerprints at the general’s home, so they went to his home to question him. They found the blood and Scott was dead too. He killed himself.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah, I understand the shit is really going to hit the fan.”

  “Don’t tell me there’s more?”

  “You bet. Defense Investigative Agents are also pursuing that this may have been a hit sanctioned by the drug cartels. Even though they found Scott’s suicide note saying that he had killed Stone and then himself, supposedly there are a lot of inconsistencies that debunk the suicide aspect.”

  “Was there any reason given in the note?”

  “Just that he couldn’t live what he and Stone had done on their last operation.”

  “Uh-oh. Was anything mentioned about the vamp—”

  “How about we do lunch?” Barkley asked, cutting Reese off abruptly.

  Reese knew Barkley had intentionally cut him off before he said anything about the team. “Sure. How about you come on over?”

  “Be there in ten minutes.”

  As Reese waited for Barkley to arrive, he remembered the debriefing they had received when they disbanded the support team for the vampires. All matters related to their operations were classified as Top Secret. If divulged before the declassification period, they would be subject to arrest and possibly tried for treason. They all signed affidavits stipulating their understanding and abiding to these rules.

  Reese remembered another man that was there in a black nondescript suit. He was not introduced and said nothing during the entire debriefing, but it was the way he looked at them; a look that Reese would always remember…

  You can’t run and you can’t hide, fuck up and being tried for treason would be the least of your worries. And I will come for you. Remember that.

  The man was what they referred to as a “spook” in the intelligence community. He was the one that would come for you if you did something foolish with classified information. He was there as a subtle reminder to anyone that the government understood that just signing a piece of paper was sometimes not enough to keep someone from talking about what they were not supposed to.

  The doorbell rang, bringing Reese back to the present. He went to the front door and opened the door.

  “Sam, come on in,” Reese said, extending his hand.

  “Thanks,” Barkley said as he shook hands.

  “Well congratulations, Lieutenant Colonel Barkley,” Reese said, noticing the rank insign
ia on Barkley’s uniform.

  “Thanks. It even amazed me. I was very junior in the selection process. I think working for the general had some fringe benefits, if you know what I mean. Either that or it was incentive to ensure I kept my mouth shut.”

  “Nothing would surprise me anymore.” Reese said, as he closed the door.

  “Sorry to cut you off on the telephone like that,” Barkley said.

  “No. You were right. I almost slipped and said something over the phone. I should know better.”

  They sat in his living room exchanging pleasantries for a few moments.

  “Well, let me get to the rest of the story,” Barkley began. “Apparently, all of the files regarding our expedition into hell with the Team are missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Well, that’s the term I’m using. I don’t think they ever kept any to begin with.”

  “I think Stone probably hid more then we will ever imagine. And I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  He felt a sense of relief that any files pertaining to that operation were either missing or non-existing. He sensed many times that the general was operating outside of any procedures or authorizations. Still, Reese couldn’t help wondering about the man in the black suit at the debriefing.

  “There was one other odd thing about the murder that won’t make it into the press?”

  “What?”

  “Stone’s body was found wearing one of the collars.”

  “The collars for the vampires? How the hell could that be?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brains over this for hours. I only made so many of those damn things. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Well…no.” Reese knew there were no other collars. He had been sure of that. The only place that collar could have come from was Dimitri, Andre or Iliga. Was it revenge? One of the oldest and truest acts of humanity from these creatures? Was that the last thing that Dimitri had alluded to when they met in the bar?