Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

by James Kipling

  “Let's take a ride.” Heath grinned, walking Andy over to the KIA Sorento, and parked the man in the passenger seat. Andy assumed he had been allowed to sit in a nice vehicle. The man didn't know he had been placed in a hearse. One hour later, he was laying in the hatchback of the KIA with a bullet in his heart.

  “I have the body,” Heath told Wendy, speaking into a cell phone. “I'm in route.”

  Wendy grinned. “Leave the body at the back door,” she ordered. “Leave Dalton immediately. When you confirm to me that you are at the Atlanta airport, I will release the second part of your payment.”

  “Done,” Heath said. He ended the call and delivered Andy's body to a run down, abandoned house sitting on the far southeast part of the county, and then drove away, never to be seen again.

  Wendy, wearing a pair of advanced night vision goggles, that allowed her to see every movement Heath made, as if the man were walking in clear daylight, stepped out from behind a tree holding a black umbrella, walked up to the back porch of the run down house, and looked down at the black body bag that Heath had stuffed Andy's body in.

  “Now, Mrs. Hayes, it's time for me to lock you away,” she said with hungry eyes. She whipped out her cell phone and made a call: “Yes, Senator Ammons, this is Wendy Cratterson. I am calling to request a favor.”

  Senator Ammons, who was sitting in a fancy office in Sacramento, stiffened. Wendy Cratterson was a dangerous woman.

  “Yes?” she asked, speaking in a voice that sounded every bit of sixty-eight. “What do you need Ms. Cratterson? As I remember, if I'm not mistaken, our relationship was supposed to have come to an end.”

  “You owe me a favor,” Wendy pointed out, listening to the cold, hard rain strike the umbrella. “If I recall, you owe me many favors,” she continued. “I have certain documents that can be very harmful to your career if you refuse to honor the favors owed to me.”

  Senator Ammons felt anger flush in her cheeks. At the age of sixty-eight, she had declawed many cats who had tried to tangle with her. Wendy Cratterson had been the only woman to stand her ground in a fight.

  “One favor, Ms. Cratterson,” she warned.

  Wendy saw Senator Ammons sitting in her office, dolled up, wearing a nice white suit, and a bunch of makeup to hide her wrinkles, diamond earrings that matched her fake gray hair, and a pair of vicious eyes that held no human conscience. “I need some media attention.”

  “Oh?” Senator Ammons asked.

  “From your desk only,” Wendy continued, still wearing the night vision goggles. “I have a man who needs to be turned into a celebrity overnight, in order to imprison a rat.” Wendy glanced down at the body bag. How one human could harm another without any remorse was a mystery to some people. People with a heart and concern toward humanity. For people with hearts like Wendy Cratterson, people were simply a means to accomplish a goal, and nothing more.

  “At 0600 hours tomorrow morning, I'm going to contact the local 9-1-1 center and report a dead body, as an anonymous caller. The local news will take up the story at first. Wait twenty-four hours, and then make the proper contacts. By then, I will have my target in place to be pulled through the mud.”

  “I will need—”

  “I'm going to e-mail you a file. Send the file to your people,” Wendy explained. “After you complete your ‘favor’, you will never hear from me again.”

  Senator Ammons wasn't certain Wendy was speaking the truth. However, she quickly reminded herself that Wendy was employed by Roger Alden, and that meant the woman was more of a threat than ever before. “Use—”

  “Your secure e-mail. Yes, I know,” Wendy stated. “The e-mail will be to you within the next hour.” Wendy ended the call, looked down at Andy Longwell, and then made a second call. “I need a team,” she said in an icy voice.

  “Authorization code?” an icy voice asked back.

  Wendy gave her authorization code. In doing so, the evil woman was fully aware she was taking a risk, but what were the chances Roger Alden would track down her hidden acts during the night? Once Roger Alden saw Jessica Mayes’ face plastered all over the news, he would have no other choice but to agree that keeping the woman in prison was the best choice; the only choice. When Roger Alden checked Walter Hicks’ file and saw that the man was who the media was claiming, Wendy doubted he would activate an investigation. If Wendy's plan worked, Jessica Mayes would be thrown into prison, and she would be able to conduct a real investigation and track down Jack Mayes’ contact. Wendy firmly believed Jack Mayes had a contact, and it was his contact who had the gold. “I need a full facial reconstruct and a green murder file.”

  “Location?”

  Wendy disclosed her location and ended the call.

  As she did, Jacob Green took exit 333 and turned onto Walnut Avenue. “I'm in Dalton,” he spoke into a secure cell phone. “I'm going to stop for a bite to eat.”

  General Garcia, who had returned to the Pentagon, frowned. “Our ELE satellite was taken offline,” he announced. “We lost sight of Wendy Cratterson earlier this afternoon.”

  Jacob spotted a glowing Chick-fil-A sign and aimed the green 2004 Jeep Wrangler he was driving toward the glowing light. “It's getting serious,” he said in a worried voice. “I'll make contact with Jessica Mayes first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Preferably tonight,” General Garcia told Jacob. He sat down at a wooden desk and looked at a photo of a lovely woman, standing next to a handsome young man who was now in the Air Force. “I would prefer contact was made tonight.”

  Jacob respected General Garcia. “I understand,” he said, pulling his jeep into the Chick-fil-A parking lot. “I need a quick bite to eat, stuff some gas into this jeep, and then I'll drive out to Mandy Andrews’ home.”

  “The FBI credentials you have on your person are vital. Use them as ordered,” General Garcia told Jacob, keeping his eyes on the woman and boy. “The existence of this nation is at risk. If we fail...if Coldwell ever manages to take office—”

  “I understand, General.” Jacob swung into a parking space, parked next to a red 2016 Dodge Ram Truck, and took a minute to catch his breath. “After seeing the report on the virus Jack Mayes created, all I can say is that I'm more than just a little scared myself. And with sewer rats like Roger Alden in the picture, well… let's just say that I don't get much sleep.”

  General Garcia closed his eyes and saw the woman and boy appear in his mind. He loved his wife and son. “If we fail, son,” he said in a shaky voice, “not only will America fall, but the entire planet will suffer.”

  “Then let's not fail,” Jacob replied, ending the call, and looking down at his hands. For the first time in his life, Jacob saw that his hands were actually shaking.

  Chapter 5

  Dark Alleys

  Jacob, unable to eat the Chick-fil-A meal he had ordered, rented a room at a Hampton Inn situated next to a warm Cracker Barrel. He changed into a fancy gray suit, combed his hair, tucked a Glock 17 into a shoulder holster hidden under his gray jacket, and then walked outside into a cold, rainy parking lot filled with shadows and misery. Or, so it seemed to Jacob.

  The night, although filled with the sound of traffic from interstate I-75, which was right in front of the Hampton Inn, seemed silent and eerie. Even the Cracker Barrel, which was slowly dwindling down to only a handful of customers, appeared lost and afraid. Of what? Of moral destruction. The night Jacob entered into, although filled with the same dark tint that had visited every night from past centuries, felt poisonous with evil and decayed.

  America was no longer painted with the ideal 1950s family dinner table; innocent high schools where guys actually asked their gals to wear their letterman jackets, instead of trying to get them pregnant, only to have the girl run to the nearest abortion clinic; cozy bowling alleys where dads drank soda instead of alcohol; fun women meetings where wives sat around talking about dinner parties and new recipes; honorable churches that families attended, to f
ear God and give Him glory, instead of attending fake churches that tickled your ears. No, America had spiraled into a demonic moral decay.

  People, instead of hiding their rotting soul on the inside, were clearly showing their rot on the outside; a filthy, diseased rot that was murdering families, children, churches, anything that possessed moral, righteous integrity and threatened evil. Yes, the days of the 1950s were over, replaced by a society that hungered for violence, sexually immoral conduct, murder, crime, hate and...and evil; a society that was openly rebelling against the God of all creation.

  “End days,” Jacob whispered, standing beside his jeep staring at the Cracker Barrel. He watched, in dismay, a young boy and girl walk into the restaurant dressed something like what. Circus clowns? No. Circus clowns had shame.

  Feeling his heart sink into his stomach Jacob hopped into the jeep and drove away. “I'm on my way to Mandy Andrews’ home,” he spoke into a cell phone in a heavy voice.

  General Garcia stood up from behind his desk and began pacing around his office. “Our team managed to get the ELE satellite back online. Wendy Cratterson is parked in a surveillance van three houses down from Mandy Andrews’ house. However, at the moment, our team cannot detect any person inside the van. We're showing negative on body heat scans.”

  “So, we don't know where Wendy Cratterson is, right?” Jacob asked, turning from Walnut Avenue, onto Glenwood Avenue.

  “Our scans show that two persons are inside Mandy Andrews’ home. The scans match earlier scans we took of Jessica Mayes and Mandy Andrews. As it appears, Wendy Cratterson is out of position for the time being.”

  Jacob heard worry in General Garcia’s voice. “Which means the snake is out crawling in the wet grass.”

  “Doing what? We don't know.” General Garcia walked over to a wooden bookshelf and began looking over the useless manuals he had written. “Military Operational Manuals,” he shook his head.

  “Cratterson has to be up to something,” Jacob said in a worried voice, driving under a red light that pointed at a carpet plant, a tire store, and an old building that held a barber shop, a ministry outreach center and a couple of other stores. The red light stopped traffic on Glenwood Avenue and Morris Street; Morris Street, which crossed over Glenwood Avenue, ran over the railroad tracks, continued, past Hamilton Street, which was the downtown sector of Dalton, and dead ended at Thorton Avenue. Glenwood Avenue continued straight, and eventually changed over to Cleveland Highway. Jacob had memorized the main streets on his flight. But what was the point, he thought? What was the point in trying so hard to fight a losing war?

  “The war isn't lost,” he scolded himself.

  “Keep me updated and use extreme caution. We'll keep the ELE satellite scanning the area. If we locate any enemy personnel, I'll send you a red text. Also, as soon as you arrive, send me a green text. I'll have our guys scramble all radio frequencies in your area. You'll have ten minutes at the most to talk without being heard.”

  “Understood, sir,” Jacob replied. He ended the call and focused on the road. Traffic was light and the road was mostly clear, except for a couple of carpet mill trucks running nightly errands, and a few vehicles roaming here and there. Eventually, the jeep entered a congested business area. Jacob spotted a Wendy's, an old K-Mart, a grocery store, a Lowes, a McDonalds, a Captain D's, a Bojangles’, and a Rite Aid; normal Corporate America sightings that had destroyed old fashioned Mom and Pop stores. America was controlled by corporations instead of 'We The People', and the tragedy was that American citizens accepted the slavery without even being aware they were enslaved.

  “At least I didn't have to see a Wal-Mart,” Jacob said in a relieved voice. Jacob despised Wal-Mart more than any other sewer store. Wal-Mart, to him, were like locusts; entering towns, destroying businesses, and forcing people to work for them for slave pay, while they outsourced jobs to China in order to import cheap junk. Yet, Wal-Mart parking lots remained full. Offer slaves poison candy, and they'll gobble the candy down time and time again, not realizing that the candy was the fangs of a poisonous spider.

  “Let's stay focused.”

  Jacob struggled to clear his mind of all annoyance and to focus directly on Jessica Mayes. The woman sure was beautiful. Jack Mayes had been a very blessed man.

  “She reminds me of Beth,” Jacob whispered, as the image of a beautiful black-headed South Korean woman entered his thoughts, temporarily distracting his already troubled mind. Beth had been a woman born of an American dad and South Korean mother. Goodness, the woman had captured Jacob's heart at first glance; her smile, her voice, her eyes. Jacob knew he wanted to marry Beth and spend the rest of his life with the lovely woman from the first moment he’d introduced himself to her. But Beth, working merely as a secretary for General Durrows, had no desire to date an American, either military or civilian. She saw the way men looked at her. They treated her like a piece of meat, rather than a woman.

  Beth hungered for love and hope; hope of finding a man who loved her for who she was, not what she looked like. Beth loved art, poetry, painting, cooking, taking walks in the rain, and dancing under the moon. She was a romantic who possessed an old soul. Jacob, determined to at least get one date with Beth, never gave up. He wrote the woman poems, sent her flowers, and even showed up in a silly teddy bear costume, until Beth, more out of embarrassment than romance, agreed to one single dinner date. To her shock, Jacob had bypassed the normal 'Date Scene', and drove her out into the country, where he had arranged a romantic picnic, read poetry to her, and then...set up painting canvases facing a delicate sunset.

  “We'll paint forever,” he had whispered to Beth. Beth, shocked that the man she assumed was simply another wolf, began painting the sunset, with her future husband standing close by. “We painted forever,” Jacob whispered, seeing the blue dress Beth had worn for their date, billowing in the wind along with her hair. “We painted a forever that lasted only a few months.”

  Pain struck Jacob's heart, which caused his face to twist into misery. Unable to deal with the pain, he forced Beth out of his mind. “Mrs. Mayes, you and I have more in common than you realize,” he said, and didn't speak again until he arrived at Mandy's home and knocked on her front door.

  Hearing someone knock on the front door of her sister's home nearly made Jessica drop the coffee cup she was holding. “Mandy, someone is at the front door!” she called out in a scared voice.

  Mandy put a yellow pot full of boiling noodles down onto the stove, wheeled out of the kitchen, and studied the front door. As she did, Jacob knocked again. “Who is it?”

  Jacob closed his eyes for a second, drew in a breath of humid air, and cleared his mind. It was time to get to work. “My name is Harry McIntyre, ma’am. I'm with the FBI,” he called through the front door. “I need to speak to Mrs. Mayes, please. The matter is quite urgent.”

  Jessica nervously put the coffee cup she was holding down onto the brown coffee table and stood up. Fear was swimming in her beautiful eyes; a deep fear consumed with confusion. “Mandy...I...don't know,” she whispered.

  Jacob pulled out his cell phone, sent a green text to General Garcia, and waited. A minute later a green text was sent back with the words “Ten minutes.” Jacob checked his watch and then called out. “The matter is very important!”

  Mandy looked at Jessica with desperate eyes. “What should we do?”

  Jessica stared at the front door. “I...I suppose we should speak to him,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

  Mandy hesitated, and then cautiously wheeled over to the front door, disengaged the locks, and looked over her shoulder at Jessica. Jessica placed her hands behind her back and reluctantly nodded her head. If the government wanted her dead, there was no place to run. Besides, if her time to die had arrived, then Jack would surely be waiting for her with open, loving arms. A sweet reunion would take place under the gentle breezes of Heaven; or so Jessica dreamed and hoped. “Okay, Mandy. Open the door.”

&nbs
p; Mandy bit down on her lip and opened the front door. Jacob's handsome 'Fonzie' face appeared. “Come in, please,” Mandy spoke in a voice that sounded calm, but was in fact very nervous. She wheeled away from the front door and moved back toward Jessica.

  “Thank you,” Jacob said, stepping into a warm living room. He spotted Jessica Mayes standing in front of a cozy couch, and then he closed and locked the front door. “I'm sorry to be visiting so late,” he said quickly, removing a gray rain hat. “Mrs. Mayes, the CIA is watching you. At the moment, my team is blocking their equipment. I have exactly ten minutes to talk.”

  Jessica felt her nerves tighten. “This is about my husband, isn't it?” she asked in an upset voice, staring into Jacob's face. The man appeared harmless, but Jessica knew wolves could wear sheep’s clothing. Her mind screamed the word Caution over and over again.

  Jacob nodded his head. “Mrs. Mayes, by now you've probably come to the conclusion that Jack Mayes, your husband, was killed.”

  Jacob's words slapped Jessica across her tormented face. Who was this man? Why was he openly speaking what her heart already understood? “I...yes,” she confessed, in a voice that sounded like someone was sticking a knife through her heart. “I'm aware my husband was a Christian man. My husband didn't drink.”

  Jacob checked his watch. Wendy Cratterson was out in the night somewhere, and he had to act fast and make every word count. “Mrs. Mayes, your husband was driving a vehicle that the CIA hacked into and took control of,” he explained in a quick voice. “The operational manager forced the car your husband was driving straight into a semi-truck, creating a head on collision. Afterward, your husband's body was injected with a fluid that mimics alcohol. I'm sorry to be stating these harmful facts so quickly, but every minute counts.”