The Gillespie Five (A Political / Conspiracy Novel) - Book 1 (42)

by T. K. Harris

  The yawn caught him by surprise. When another and then another yawn followed in quick succession, he realized he wasn't going to get much else done for the night. Stumbling to the bathroom, he splashed some water on his face and swished some around in his mouth before spitting it out. He was still yawning as he crawled into the hard dorm bed, which still managed to feel like heaven to his exhausted body. Minutes later he was sound asleep.

  A rough hand closed over Tommy’s mouth, snatching him from his dreams. Before he was fully awake, he felt other hands grab his arms and legs. Startled, he tried to sit up.

  "Zip his wrists!"

  Adrenaline surged through Tommy and he managed to free his legs and lash out, connecting with at least two people.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  The hand over Tommy’s mouth disappeared. He opened it to yell, only to have a cloth shoved in deep enough to make him gag. The hesitation cost him. A second later, a set of legs slammed across both of his, the body so heavy he immediately felt the circulation begin to cease. This action was quickly followed by the crushing weight of someone pushing their knees into his chest. Suddenly Tommy couldn’t breathe.

  "Tag him!"

  His heart pounding so hard, he felt it would jump from his chest, Tommy tried to tear free again. But his arms were yanked over his head and something hard pulled them tight together, biting into his wrists. He barely registered the sharp stinging sensation in his neck.

  A few seconds later, a wave of dizziness slowed his struggles. He tried to ignore the nausea and resume his fight, but his limbs were only sluggishly obeying him. And then, as suddenly as it had all begun, his struggling stopped and he felt himself free falling into oblivion.

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  Denver Police Commander, Nathan Lee, found himself pulling a triple shift and answering phones on a Thursday night like a rookie. The cut backs were affecting everyone and, to make matters worse, he was down two precinct commanders. So, of course, he had earned the privilege of filling in for them both.

  Getting up to grab his twentieth cup of a brown liquid that should be prosecuted for impersonating coffee, he sat back down at his desk to wait for the onslaught of calls that came in every night. But Thursdays – thanks to college students - usually started off the weekends, which meant the calls would come in earlier and more frequently. Knowing when the deluge typically started, Lee figured he had at least fifteen minutes to relax.

  Propping his feet up, Lee leaned back in his chair to catch a quick catnap. The relief of finally getting off of his feet was evident in his face and in the long sigh he let out as he closed his eyes. He had just started to nod off when the phones began ringing in the outer offices, and then in his. With a groan, he picked up the phone. "Denver Police, Precinct 6."

  The phone calls came nonstop from 8:00 P.M. to 2:30 A.M. and then, mercifully, stopped. Among the many needless calls taken, such as people asking for directions or complaining about their neighbor's dog being too loud, they actually managed to respond to some real crimes. All in all, the night's docket consisted of three knife fights, two shootings, one hit and run, and one liquor store robbery. A light night for a Thursday.

  Lee took a sip of his now cold coffee and leaned back, placing his feet on his desk again. Four more hours to go, he thought. He was considering trying once more for that nap when one of the rookies knocked on his office door. He noted Kowalski's grinning face through the glass window.

  "What?"

  Kowalski poked his head in. "Hey Commander, I got this lady on the line who swears, and this is what she really said, honest. She said that some ‘men in black’ just accosted some man outside of one of the downtown shops."

  "So what's the problem? Check it out."

  "Well, sir, I would. I mean she sounds sincere. But I think she may be a little off her rocker."

  "How's that?"

  Kowalski's face split into a grin. "Well, sir, she claims she is Marilyn Monroe, as in the Marilyn Monroe. She even said I could call her Norma Jeane."

  Lee growled. "Why are you bothering me with this crap?"

  "But you haven't heard the best part!" Kowalski’s grin widened. "Not only did she claim to be Marilyn, but she says we should respond immediately because they look just the same men who tried to kill her when she was younger."

  "Get out!"

  The grin left Kowalski's face. "Yes, sir. But I wanted to ask your opinion about something."

  Lee’s eyes narrowed. "What?"

  "Do you think I should ask her out? I mean it’s not every day one gets a chance to meet the Marilyn Monroe. Even if she is ancient by now." He started laughing.

  Lee could feel his face getting hotter. Kowalski's laughter stopped abruptly. "I'll just be going now."

  The shutting door did little to dim the sound of Kowalski's laughter as he headed back to his desk and hung up the phone. Lee shook his head. It wasn't bad enough that he had to deal with whackos calling in, he also had a bunch of wise ass rookies. He leaned back in his chair only to have the phones started ringing again. With a weary sigh, he sat up and grabbed the phone.

  "Denver Police, Precinct 5. I mean, Precinct 6."

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  Senator Mitchell Gillespie arrived in the office in the early hours of Friday morning, just in time to receive the call informing him that all targets had been acquired. He smiled as he hung up. Just a few months before, they had finally launched the operation, and managed to quickly tag several threats, many more than they had expected. But this group? This group was special.

  Four individuals, all hitting the same trap and all from Colorado, his own state. And, between their backgrounds and other initial evidence, there was reason to believe they had been collaborating in a way that suggested a major player was involved. It was regrettable that he would not be able to go immediately to the press. But there were questions to be asked and legalities to deal with and one did not hurry through these things. Especially the legalities in this case where the use of the CIA’s extreme or, extraordinary, rendition tactic was being employed against American citizens

  The fact that it was being used on American citizens, however, was not what concerned Gillespie as much as where they were going to be holding the detainees. Typically, the use of extraordinary rendition required taking detainees to another country, or location, not subject to the Geneva Conventions. But where the Director of the FBI had suggested they send the detainees was, essentially, U.S. territory. And, though he had been talking with several lawyers, he still had some doubts and he would not be going to the press until both the interrogations and the legalities had been locked down to his satisfaction.

  Still, it was a move in the right direction. And a move that would help take him to the Oval Office.

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  Barrett hung up the phone with the people who had hired him, and looked around his temporary downtown Denver apartment. Nearly a hundred and fifty hits to the trap in a matter of months. All were being investigated but only a few arrests had been made. He gritted his teeth. He wanted them all questioned!

  Slowly, he began to pace his apartment, his steps coming quicker and quicker in rhythm with his emotions. Damn fucking politicians! He should have known Gillespie wasn't any different. He wasn't really interested in stopping all hackers, he just wanted the cases that would get him into the presidential seat the quickest.

  There had been twenty-two hits in Colorado alone. How they had connected the dots and discovered this group was most likely working together, he didn't know. But once Gillespie realized what they possibly had, there had been no stopping him or turning his interest to any of the other hackers.

  'Sometimes, when you are fishing, you have got to let the small ones go in order to get the bigger haul,' was as all Gillespie had said.

  The people who'd hired Barrett didn't seem to care either. He stopped his pacing and
slammed his fist on the table. Stupid fucking idiots!

  A chirping on his phone cut into his tirade. Pulling it out of his pocket he read the text message.

  Good job. Check your account. More to come. Time to celebrate.

  Time to celebrate? Seriously?!

  Still venting, he opened his bank app and stared at the balance. As quickly as it had boiled up, his temper vanished, replaced by new – several hundred thousand grand worth of – possibilities.

  More to come.

  Barrett glanced out of his window to watch the rising sun. Maybe they weren’t forgetting the others.

  Looking back at his bank balance, Barrett decided that maybe a little celebrating couldn’t hurt. After all, they had been working at this for nearly two years. Glancing at the clock on his phone, he noted it was barely 6:00 a.m.

  A little bit early to celebrate, he thought.

  Then, another thought struck him. Soon he’d be spending his time in the hell hole they had selected to hold the detainees and there wouldn’t be much celebrating then. Not in that backwater place.

  Hell, it was five o’clock somewhere!

  With that thought, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of Jack Daniel's, poured himself a double, downed it and then hit 1 on his speed dial.

  "Kikki? Greg. Why don't you grab one of your cute friends? No. Make that three of your friends and meet me at my place in an hour. Plan on an all day and night gig. And make sure everyone has evening wear. We’ll be going out in the limo tonight."

  Without waiting for a response, he hung up. It had been awhile since he'd gone out with the girls. He hoped Kikki remembered his favorite poison. And his other preferences.

  Barrett poured another double. To the first of many arrests to come, he thought as he slammed it and headed back to his bedroom to prepare for the girls’ arrival.

  Chapter Four

  Tommy awoke to the sound and feel of an engine. His head hurt and he couldn't see anything. Slowly he began to recall the feel of hands holding him down. In a panic, he tried to move, only to find that his arms and legs were bound tight. He kicked out, connecting with something soft, and heard a grunt. His breath came faster and he suddenly realized that the gag had been removed.

  He shouted, "What's going on? Who are you people?"

  A gruff voice yelled, "Shut up back there!"

  "Who are you? Where are you taking me?"

  "I said shut up or I'll duct tape your mouth shut for you!"

  He heard another voice murmur something and then others, but could only catch snatches of the conversation over the rumble of the engine. "Take…quiet…another two hours. Traitors…questioning."

  The conversation continued in bits and pieces, making no sense to Tommy. As the time passed, he began to find it harder to breathe. He needed answers. Opening his mouth to ask another question, he was stopped suddenly when a voice very close to him whispered, "Just be quiet. They'll leave you and the rest of us alone if you're quiet."

  "Us? Who else is here?"

  "I said shut the fuck up!"

  Tommy cringed. Trying to control his panic, he forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. He realized that along with the headache, his throat felt swollen and his mouth dry. After a few breaths, the tightness in his chest began to relax and with it returned some of his ability to think.

  There had to be an explanation for this. These guys obviously weren't cops. There were other people in the back with him. So who were they?

  Hope dawned sudden and hard as a thought struck him. He was being hazed. That had to be it. He had applied for the Chi Psi fraternity last week and they had said that they might be in ‘contact’ with him.

  Relief flooded through him. Of course, that was it.

  The realization brought a small, nervous laugh as he began to wonder about what they were planning to do to him and the other initiates. Part of him wanted to ask more questions but he held his tongue, not wanting to be kicked out before he even had a chance to pass the tests.

  His mom's warning's echoed in his head. 'Don't let them give you too much water or alcohol. Both can kill you.'

  He laughed softly. She was always worried about the craziest things.

  Time passed as they drove on and he could feel others beginning to move around, but no one else asked any questions. They must have known, he thought. There was still something soft and unmoving near his legs. He decided it was someone who had passed out, probably from drinking too much.

  As they rode, he tried to recall the stories he'd heard of Chi Psi's hazing. Some had been pretty scary but new rules had been put in place so he wasn't too worried. He remembered one funny incident in which the initiates were forced to strip down to their underwear and run around the campus shouting insults about themselves. It might not have been so bad, but it happened during the dead of winter.

  Thankfully its summer, he thought.

  Then he remembered what they had done to a set of initiates a few summers ago. Something that involved hoses and ice cold river water. He really hoped that wasn't the case this time. He wasn't overly fond of the cold.

  Hours more seemed to pass as they continued driving and eventually he began to doze. The screech of metal woke him with a start. The vehicle had stopped and they had opened the door, letting in a cool breeze. Nervous excitement shot through him.

  Let the hazing begin, he thought.

  He heard a voice shout, "Johnson, Bo, Leeman, Harris, each of you take a few men and get the detainees in their cells."

  "What about the one still out of it," a deeper voice asked. "How much did you give that guy anyway?"

  "None of your damn business. Just pick him up and carry him."

  A pair of hands reached in and yanked Tommy forward and he asked, "Where are we going? Are you guys with the Chi Psi fraternity?"

  Someone laughed. "Sure kid. Not get off your ass and start walking."

  He stumbled out of the van and began to slip on the gravel, only to be caught and yanked upright. They walked for a little ways, someone holding him by each arm, before he heard another door open and he was led through. He was a little anxious about what was going to happen, but kept telling himself it was just normal initiation. Lots of people went through this. Despite his throbbing wrists, he'd be laughing about this tomorrow.

  He heard the door close behind him as someone yanked the hood off his head. He winced against the sudden onslaught of bright light, stumbling as they pushed him forward. When his eyes cleared, Tommy noted that he was surrounded by armed guards in green uniforms. None of them looked like they were in college.

  He felt a leaden weight settle in his stomach as he was shoved forward and led down a corridor of white cement walls that reminded him of pictures he had seen of old WWII bomb shelters. Two of the armed men walked on either side of him, each still holding onto his arms while the third led the way. He could hear another walking behind. None looked directly at him.

  The corridor was a maze of constant twists and turns and Tommy quickly realized that even if he somehow managed to escape, he wasn't going to find his way back out easily. Not that it mattered. Judging by all of the cameras he saw, it wouldn't take them very long to find him anyway.

  After what seemed like hours, but was probably minutes, the group finally halted in front of a gray metal door. The man in front unlocked the door, shoving it open until it slammed into the wall behind it. He then stepped aside as the two holding Tommy led him inside and cut the zip ties. Tommy immediately began rubbing his wrists, trying to get some feeling back in his hands, and instantly regretting it as sharp needles of pain shot down his fingers with the returning blood flow.

  The man that led the way waited as the other two guards left the room and then turned to Tommy. "You will receive three meals a day. You will remain here until someone comes to get you for questioning." He then stepped back, slamming the door.

  Leaping after him, Tommy yelled, "Hey, wait a minute! Don't I get to talk to
someone? What is going on? Am I under arrest?"

  His only answer was the sound of a bolt sliding into place. Seeing a metal slot in the door that resembled a larger version of a mail drop, he tried to open it with no luck. "Hey! Don't leave me here! Somebody answer me!"

  He hammered the door with his fists. "Someone! Anyone! I know my rights!" He continued until his fists were bruised and his already swollen throat began to ache. And, still, no one came.

  Feeling like he was stuck in a waking dream, he turned to look at his room. If you could call it a room. The small, almost closet sized area contained a toilet, a sink with what looked like an unbreakable mirror hanging over it, a shower head with a button beneath it instead of a lever, and below that was a small drain in the floor. The last thing in the room was a cot on top of which sat a blanket, a set of sheets, a towel and a bag. There were no windows. But he also didn't see any cameras. And it was cold.

  Cell. They had called it a cell. As in jail cell?

  Shivering slightly, Tommy walked over to the bed and opened the bag. Inside he found a comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, bar of soap, roll of toilet paper, shaving cream and safety razors. Understanding, followed by dread, began to dawn on him. Not only was this not a hazing but, whoever these people were, it seemed like they expected him to be here for a while.

  Not knowing what else to do he began to pace the cell, knocking on the concrete walls. It was something he'd seen in a movie. The guy was looking for a hollow place. What he would do if he did find a hollow spot he had no idea, but it distracted him from the mounting voice of fear in his head.

  When he completed his circuit just a few minutes later, he knew two things. One, that the walls were all solid concrete and two, his waking daydream was quickly sliding straight into a nightmare. The fear that had grabbed him from the moment he felt the hand close over his mouth, now slithered deeper. And he didn’t like it. A nineteen-year-old had no business being afraid. He tried to think of what his dad or uncle would do, but came up with nothing.