Honorable Assassin

by Jason Lord Case

  Randy spent many of his evenings in the Riggers Club. That august establishment had the finest of spirits and tobacco available but women were not permitted and common drugs were forbidden. The Riggers Club was a gentleman’s club and gentlemen did not soil themselves with drugs. The club was not a casino, though games could be played, often for high stakes. The club had good security, better in that it was unobtrusive. The front and back doors had security cameras but never the members’ areas. The thick velvet drapes were seldom held open and there were complimentary beds upstairs for those members who could not go home for one reason or another.

  Randy was also a member of Bacchanalia, the charter of which said it was a gentleman’s club. He did not visit Bacchanalia often and he always went alone. It would not do to let any of the men around him know he had interests in that arena. The club was hidden underground with no sign on the door. The owner was very careful to pay off the men who would have been in charge of investigating him. Multiple locked doors needed to be opened before a member could get into the entertainment area. The entertainment area was a series of rooms where teenage boys were held captive, prostituted, tortured and murdered. None of the boys came from the Sydney area, most of them were from Indonesia. Occasionally a runaway was brought in from another city but mostly it was foreigners. They were promised a new and exciting life in Australia and found torture and death.

  Randy paid a great deal of money to be a member of Bacchanalia. In turn, the owner paid protection to both sides of the law. About twice a year Randy would go down to Bacchanalia, all alone, and work out some of his sadistic tendencies on the captive body of some poor immigrant. It cost more if you wanted to torture and kill the boy but that service was available as well. Nobody ever found the bodies because the manager of the club also owned a crematorium.

  Randy had been very careful not to let anyone know he visited the underground perversion that called itself a gentleman’s club, but it is hard to keep such a secret for long. He had been marked a couple of years earlier and noted after that. All Terry had needed to do to get this information was to bring up Randy’s name then sit back and let the crew talk. The Bacchanalia was not common knowledge so nobody was surprised when the young man who had recently joined them didn’t know about it. It was half legend and that half had grown to encompass whatever the sordid minds of the age could envision. Many people brushed it off as imaginary.

  The Hall of Records had a charter for Bacchanalia. The “gentleman’s club” was listed as being 4747 Oedipus Avenue. There was no Oedipus Avenue in the city, of course. It took some asking around to determine that it was actually on Euripides Avenue. Once he had the address, Terry paid a visit to the neighborhood. It was seedy and run down. The buildings were close together and some of them were deserted. As far as he could tell, the club used a warehouse across the street as a parking garage for its clientele. It would have been smart for the owner to dig an underground passage to the warehouse but he never had. When compared to the wide expanses of lawn, cameras and security around the Riggers Club, this was a much more desirable location to plan a shooting.

  The apartment that Randy called home had been discarded as a viable spot early in the game. It was a busy building with armed security and hallway cameras. His apartment was higher than the roofs of many of the nearby buildings so a shot from afar was not really available.

  Terry took his time planning this job. He did not want to hurry it. He was actually enjoying watching, plotting from the shadows. He had discarded most of the rumors about the club as being fanciful fabrications, but as he observed the building his curiosity was piqued. As was common with a gentleman’s club, there were never any women entering the front door. There were never any supplies delivered either. That meant the delivery door was somewhere in the back, but a reconnaissance of the area revealed no loading dock, just a pedestrian door. Surveillance on the back alley had to be done from afar and it was difficult to get a good look, but it became apparent that the supplies were delivered next door after hours and that there must be a connection below ground.

  The real nature and horror of the club revealed itself after a couple of weeks of observation. The crate from Thailand was too large to go through the door and so, needed to be broken down outside. When the side was pried off the crate, there were three young boys, bound and gagged inside. The boys were quickly carried inside and the door was closed.

  Terry had heard of such perversions but had never been able to believe that men really did these things. With all the women in the world, what made a man want to fuck a little boy? He was sickened by the prospect and quickly made it his mission not to just to kill Randy Arganmajc but to clean out this little piece of Hell in the process.

  Bacchanalia had lots of security, most of which did not speak much English. They had been recruited from the Middle East and would just as soon shoot an Infidel as look at him. The owner of record was a Greek corporation. It was plain that they did not care or investigate the nature of the club. It was purely a business deal for them. The real vermin were the men who managed the day-to-day operations.

  Having Randy Arganmajc in the building when the assault was initiated was of importance to the young assassin. But there was no backup on hand. Uncle Ginger could not desert the farm and wait for months. Terry began to time things out. He was figuring out how long each part of the plan took. He was having trouble working it out so he could be on both sides of the building at the same time. He needed backup and did not have it. He was about to give up on trapping Randy inside the building. It was simply too complicated, time sensitive, and impractical.

  The last thing Terry Kingston expected was to get a phone call from Gordon MacMaster. He had written the Scotsman off as having left the country months earlier, never to be seen again. Gordon wanted to meet with Terry outside of Sydney. Terry suggested Richmond but Gordon preferred the Leura Railway Station next to Katoomba on the Blue Mountain Railway Line. They would meet there on Saturday. Gordon insisted that they bring no one else to the meet.

  It was less than two hours on the train to Leura Station. Terry had never been there before and quite enjoyed the trip. The flora and fauna were a fine change from the flat, dry lands and the concrete of the city. He was displeased to find that his manners were suffering from being trapped in the city. People were more gracious outside the city limits.

  The station was actually perfect for a sniper to take out a target. It was an island with tracks going each way around it and a tree-covered cliff on the other side of one track. If MacMaster had wanted to eliminate his witness, Terry would have been a dead man. He started asking himself what he thought he was doing while he hustled to the stairs that would take him over the tracks and into town. The stairs were even more exposed but, he reasoned, if he had been targeted he would have already been dead.

  Leura was a charming and picturesque town. In another month there could well be snow on the mountains around it, but it was clear and cold that day.

  Terry’s phone rang and he got directions to a restaurant, which turned out to be a charming old establishment that had been a post office at one time. Inside he found Gordon MacMaster having a cup of coffee.

  “G’day mate, mind if I join you?”

  “Mr. Kingston, please be seated.”

  Terry froze. He had never revealed his identity to anyone in the city. He was certain that he had not been targeted or he would already be dead but he could not help the shock that gripped him. It was not that he was surprised that the secret was out or that a man such as MacMaster could have divined it, it was simply the naked feeling that comes with such a declaration. He felt, and was in fact, exposed.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to throw your secret to the wind. In fact, I’m here to congratulate you on your powers of manipulation. Please, be seated.” The Scotsman was smiling and doing his best to put Terry at ease.

  “When did you find out?” Terry asked after he took a chair.

  “Oh, not u
ntil afterward. You see, you managed to fool everyone to some extent. I was relatively sure I was looking in the right direction until the actual moment the truck was stopped. I had studied the prior attacks and while they had been different from each other, they all displayed a level of finesse that Lee Pierce did not possess.”

  The waitress came to the table and Terry ordered coffee and a pastry. He was charmed by his associate’s choice of locations and by his associate as well.

  “I should have been put on guard by some of the things you said and some of the questions you asked, but I was focused externally and did not pick it up until I had divorced myself from the situation. I wanted to make sure you got your bonus, but I could not take the chance that you were planning to kill me as well.” There was a smile on the Scotsman’s lips that did not extend to his eyes.

  The waitress came back around with the coffee and pastry. When she had left, Terry replied earnestly, “I had no intention of killing you. What would have given you that impression?”

  “Oh, nothing did, I was just being cautious.”

  “You fooled me completely in the hotel. I was waiting for you and you were already in the room and gone.”

  “That was simple. What you did with Lee and his ex-wife was better. In fact, it was brilliant. That, by the way, is how I found out what you were up to. If you had been able to cut the woman off clean or eliminate her, I would never have discovered you.”

  “I think you would have. Once your suspicions were raised you followed through. You would have kept going until you were satisfied. That’s the sort of man you are.”

  “True. You fooled me, if only for a moment. That doesn’t happen often and it most often leads to a body bag. Oh, by the way, leaving the Mauser in the trailer was not the best idea. With all the guns Lee had, he would have chosen a more modern weapon. It seemed to work for the police, but not for me.”

  “So why are you here? What I mean is, why am I here?”

  “I recognize talent when I see it and while I think you need a lot of work, I also think you are a natural.”

  “And that means what?”

  “There is a lot of work out there that needs to be done and a limited number of men who can do it. There are plenty who are willing, but the secret is to get out alive. You are a survivor and I have friends that employ survivors. I would like to take you away from here and introduce you to the world. The world will, of course, never be introduced to you.”

  “Can’t do it, mate. I have things I need to do here.”

  “Let’s go for a walk and we can continue this conversation outside.”

  The town of Leura has many vistas and beautiful outlooks. The two men walked until the reached a secluded area.

  “I know you have a business in Orange,” Gordon continued. “That business will eventually lead anyone seeking you right to your doorstep.”

  Terry was floored, now. His respect for the Scotsman was continually increasing. His stomach was also starting to tighten up. “How did you determine all this?” he asked, trying not to give anything away.

  “It was not that difficult once I knew where you went on the odd weekend. This is the point, however, if I can do it, anyone can. You have played a game with dreadful consequences and it will come back to bite you eventually. If you cut and run now, nobody will be the wiser, but if you stay, you seal your doom. Not all of the thugs you are associating with are complete morons. Eventually they will ask the same questions I did and they will not be happy when they discover your secret second life.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “Me? Nothing. I will simply disappear. As far as they know I have gone back to Scotland and I’m fishing in Loch Ness.”

  “I must say your proposal is intriguing. I enjoyed that little cruise you arranged for me.”

  “I thought you would. I must say, bombing the plastics factory while you were in Europe was a stroke of genius. It threw suspicion off yourself masterfully. I suggested the cruise because I had my suspicions of you, but you handled that very well.”

  “Thank you, but there are a couple of things I really feel I must do before I leave. If I did not know about them I would probably be able to take you up on the offer. But I do know and I must fix them or suffer for it.”

  “Are they actions or personal items?”

  “Personal.”

  “You do know the danger of pursuing personal items; the danger involved with vendettas?”

  “Yes, I’m aware of the rules but my whole life has been vendetta. That is why I am where I am. That is why I have done what I have done.”

  “Outline it for me and I will see what qualifies.”

  “How do I know who you are working for?”

  “I already told you. I’m working for no one. If I wished you any ill will, I would have exposed you as soon as I knew you were the Irishman. You’re working both sides and not as a copper. You think you’re some kind of comic book super hero, fighting for truth and justice. You have more honor than all those blighters you work with and still manage to cover it up. That takes natural skill and talent. I suspect that is why you want to stay now. Honor. Tell me what it is you want to do and perhaps I’ll throw in a free hand.”

  Terry stood on the edge of the cliff, revealed and exposed. His fear was not for himself but for those few he had become fond of. Gordon had pushed him so gently he had not seen the edge of the precipice. Now there was no choice but to take the offer of assistance or go over the edge. He could not refuse the free hand.

  ~~~

  Chapter Eleven: The Free Hand

  The roles of the two men were somewhat reversed, but only partially so. Gordon MacMaster acknowledged that the operation was Terry’s and Terry admitted he was only partially ready to pull it off. The Aussie had done the reconnaissance and the Scot had the experience. If there had been any chest puffing or leadership challenges as there so often are among young men, then the operation was doomed to failure from the beginning. Gordon was Terry’s senior by about 10 years, and he would have walked off in a New York minute.

  This is not to say that either man was all that comfortable with the arrangement. To date, the only man Terry trusted was Uncle Ginger, and he even began to question his loyalty at times. MacMaster had not mentioned Ginger so Terry felt sure that he did not know of his existence. Terry intended to keep it that way.

  It was difficult not to like Gordon MacMaster. The Scot would teach, not preach. He had a zest for life that extended well past his assignments, but he was never reckless. He and Terry reveled, drank and danced with the ladies but he refused to go out in Sydney. It was Gordon’s insistence that he would work better from behind the curtains. If he were identified, the contract would be out on him.

  Regardless of the Scotsman’s assertion that he was going after Randy Arganmajc as a cathartic balm for his conscience, Terry wanted to make sure there was no doubt in his mind. He observed his former mentor and new partner very closely when he described the Bacchanalia and the red head’s reaction went quite a way toward soothing his fears. Planning began immediately and much to Terry’s dismay, he found that he was still learning at the feet of a master. There was no question that the operation should be undertaken. It was Gordon’s contention, however, that they should be paid for a job of this size and Terry did not see how.

  The children chained in the basement were from poor families. Sometimes they were sold into slavery; sometimes they were kidnapped. There was no reward offered for their return. Once freed, they would have nowhere to go but nowhere was better than where they were. There would be no financial gain from that side of the equation.

  For MacMaster’s part, he had watched Terry carefully before approaching him. In the time they had worked together in the service of their erstwhile employers, Terry had impressed him as being focused and efficient. He listened well and learned quickly. It was not that Gordon had been looking for a protégé, he was simply after the reward he would get for bringing in new talen
t. What he did know was that personal revenge was a very messy business and he needed to be sure that Terry could display the necessary detachment when the chips were down. The young Australian would need a lot of coaching and direction but he already had the motivation and drive, and he had that other thing, that natural talent that came from nobody knows where. MacMaster would leave himself an avenue of escape if things got too messy and he needed to allow Kingston to be sacrificed. He hoped it would not come to that but was steeled against its possibility.

  Terry was against using the authorities on the job. He had never worked much with the police and was not about to start. He was willing to listen, however.

  The call went in June 21, 2001 as a fire in the basement of 4747 Euripides. While the street patrol had been paid off, the fire department had not. There was a big row between the guards, the police and the firemen. There would be repercussions along the chain of command.

  The second call to 4747 Euripides came in two days later but it was a different scene this time. The front door of the building had been blown in by some sort of explosion and the front rooms were on fire. The guard who had been standing outside the front door was unconscious but alive. Again there was discord between the guards and the firemen. This time the police did not try to stop the fire department from accessing the scene. The guards would not let anyone in the basement but the station chief had the run of the house other than that.

  The third call came in the following day. This time there was an acrid smoke pouring from the basement. There was no question but that the fire crew was needed but the guards were refusing to let them in. The compromised police were standing like gelded roosters, not knowing what to do, until the argument escalated and one of the guards opened fire.

  Without knowing enough English to understand why the fire trucks were there, and with specific orders to never allow non-members into the basement, Hassim was immovable. One of the smoke-eaters grabbed a fire axe and headed for the basement door with all the intentions of smashing it down and stopping the argument. Hassim shot him. That was all the nerves of the crew could take, and it was as far as the police were willing to go. They turned their weapons on Hassim and dropped him where he stood. They tried to stop the fire fighters from smashing down the new door, but it was too late. They were addressing the second door by then. The third door opened by itself and two Yemeni nationals ran out as the fire department ran in. They did not see the five other men who rode the freight elevator up to run out the back. The smoke was thick and caustic, but it was not deadly, not that any of the men in the dungeon could have known that. What was deadly was the confrontation they ran into when they charged, fully armed, out the back door of the building. The alley was full of police and fire fighters trying to get through the back door. The lack of a common language hindered any communication between them as the guards exited. Then the bullets started flying. It was never determined who had shot first, just that there was a bloodbath in the alley. The Investigators did their best to piece together what had happened but never really got that good a handle on it. Two constables, one fireman and all five guards were killed. Three other firemen and a constable were injured in the rain of fire and lead.