Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

by James Kipling

  “Vice-President McDougal is an idiot,” Roger barked at Tim. “That man has been itching at the chance to stab Edwin Green in the back. Green is aware of McDougal’s betrayal.” Roger finished off his cigarette. “McDougal will be killed, once he outlives his usefulness, so do not assume for one minute that the man is going to become a permanent member of our team.”

  Tim stood in shock. Vice-President McDougal was an extremely powerful man, who was connected to dangerous entities that could cause Roger numerous problems. Was Roger truly considering killing the man? It seemed so. “Yes, sir.”

  “Tim,” Roger stated, as he stood and pointed a hard finger into the air, “no man will undermine me, is that clear? McDougal believes that I am going to make him the next President. He is wrong.” Roger narrowed his eyes. “Coldwell is still my man.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “In the meantime, we will play McDougal like a fiddle. Is that clear?” Roger snapped. “And speaking of McDougal, he is due to call me in ten minutes.”

  Tim checked his watch. “Yes, sir,” he said. He walked to the office door and paused. No man ever left Roger’s office without permission. Roger glared at Tim, and then waved the man out. Roger hurried away, rushed back to his own office, and began making numerous phone calls.

  The situation was intense, and Roger Alden, it seemed to Tim, was going insane. “I may have to kill him,” Tim thought, as he called the owner of CNN and began throwing out orders.

  ((((((((((*))))))))))

  Pastor Tom Braston walked into a small office feeling old and tired. The office, smelling of old books and Windex, was located on the first floor of Hope Springs Baptist Church. The building itself wasn’t very big. The first floor of the church acted as the main floor, while the basement area acted as a dining hall with a bank of Sunday school rooms alongside a Children’s Choir room.

  Tom didn’t mind not being the pastor of a large congregation. Smaller congregations, in his opinion, offered more of a family environment in which the word of God glowed with wisdom and truth. In fact, Tom thought while walking across a brown rug that was quite worn, preaching to a small congregation was actually right up his alley. A man Tom’s age wasn’t up to turning into an ‘Entertainment’ Pastor. No, preaching to sincere hearts was what his own heart desired. At the moment, Tom wasn’t sure he could preach to anyone. His heart was filled with grief over Jessica Mayes.

  “This can’t be true,” he said, sitting down behind a humble wooden desk in an office that had a simple stain glassed window with a dove standing behind it. “This can’t be true.”

  News proclaiming that Jessica Mayes had been marked a National Terrorist was everywhere. And to make matters even worse, a video was circulating all over the news showing Jessica Mayes gunning down a trucker who had tried to come to the rescue of a cop who had been viciously attacked. Tom had carefully reviewed the tape over and over again at his home, before deciding to travel to the church in order to have prayer time. Tom could have prayed at home but praying in his office always made him feel closer to the Lord. The office was, in a sense, his ‘Prayer Closet’.

  “I saw it with my own eyes, but...it can’t be true,” Tom whispered in an anguished tone. “That woman isn’t a killer. I know it.”

  Tom lifted his old hands and rubbed his troubled face, feeling like a wrinkled-up prune wearing a worn, brown suit. The old man was pushing seventy, and didn’t exactly feel like a strapping young lad anymore. In his younger years, Tom had served in the Army, and had been able to run two miles without breaking a sweat. Now, it took every ounce of energy Tom had to climb a flight of stairs. Climbing three flights of stairs took half an hour. Who was he to dare to object to evidence that clearly pinned guilt to a distraught widow? Who was he to dare to interfere with the government? Who was he to dare to think his old body had the strength to battle lies, if lies were actually being reported across the media? Tom was simply an old man waiting to join his wife in Heaven. Yet, something deep down in his gut, a voice, kept insisting that Jessica Mayes was innocent and was in need of his help.

  “How?” Tom whispered. He bowed his head and prayed for guidance and understanding. Tom knew that depending on his own understanding would end in disaster. Only the wisdom of the Lord Jesus would guide him to all truth and victory.

  Tom continued to pray for half an hour, and then opened an old Bible sitting on his desk and read the Book of Joshua. Joshua had been ordered to march around the walls of Jericho. While the story had been turned into many different teachings to instruct adults and children, Tom saw the teaching as a deep, beautiful gem that began and ended in nothing but faith; sweet, amazing faith. It was faith, Tom knew, that pleased Jesus. Faith connected a man’s heart to the things of Heaven and not the things of the earth.

  “Where is my faith?” Tom asked himself, as his eyes continued to read the Book of Joshua.

  After about an hour of reading, Tom rubbed his eyes and stood to stretch his back before walking around the small office. His legs took him to a wooden bookshelf which held numerous old Bibles, study materials, and a photo album. Tom focused on the photo album, studied the faded green covering, and bowed his head as tears dripped from his eyes.

  “Lara,” he whispered, “Oh, Lara. How I miss you.”

  Tom forced his eyes back up to the photo album. With a painful heart, he retrieved it and slowly opened the front cover to a photo of a very young man and woman. They were holding hands while standing in front of a sweet church on a warm spring morning.

  “We were just married, and so happy...” Tom whispered as his tears continued to fall. “So happy.”

  A gentle knock at the office door caused Tom to look up.

  “Yes?” he called out, in a low voice that sounded weak and lifeless.

  “Pastor Braston?” a voice called back.

  Rachel Goldstein, a sweet Jewish woman who had found Jesus as her Messiah was standing on the other side of the office door. Tom thought the world of Rachel, but he wasn’t feeling up to speaking with anyone. However, Rachel had become a close friend, and it would be rude to send her away.

  “One minute, please,” he called out. He placed the photo album back on the bookshelf, wiped at his tears, and then walked back to the desk and sat down. “Yes, Rachel?”

  Rachel Goldstein, who had just celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday, carefully opened the office door and peeked her lovely, tender face through. She spotted Tom sitting at his desk. The poor man appeared distraught and miserable.

  “The women’s meeting has ended. I saw your car. Are you alright?”

  Tom watched Rachel ease into his office. The woman was as thin as a pencil and as frail as a porcelain doll, but she was so sweet, loving and caring. Rachel possessed numerous qualities that Tom’s deceased wife had displayed during her life. Rachel even favored Tom’s wife. The only difference was that Lara Braston had been a little shorter and maintained a healthier weight. Tom always worried that Rachel was suffering from a deep depression that prevented her from eating.

  “I came to pray,” he explained.

  “Oh, yes. In light of what is taking place across the country, I can certainly understand,” Rachel told Tom. “It seems that our country had been thrown into a chaotic state overnight.”

  “Yes, it does,” Tom agreed and offered, “Sit?”

  Rachel shook her head. “My Toy Fox Terrier will need to be walked soon,” she explained, as her hands worked to pull a blue shawl further up on her frail shoulders. Tom watched Rachel fuss with the shawl and then glanced at the woman’s long gray hair. It hung down on her brown dress which seemed to hang like a baggy curtain. Rachel was a lovely woman, but she was far too thin.

  “I must admit that I’m very afraid, Tom,” she confessed. “This woman, this Jessica Mayes, seems to be a very evil person.”

  “Yes, the media is certainly portraying the woman in that light.”

  “You do not believe this Jessica Mayes woman
is guilty?” she dared to ask, clearly confused. “Certainly, Tom, you have been paying very close attention to the news. Perhaps you have even seen a certain video—”

  “I’ve seen the news and the video,” Tom politely cut Rachel off.

  “Then...what?” Rachel asked. “Tom, certainly this woman is a threat.”

  Tom became very silent as his mind struggled for an explanation. He found himself slipping into a deep, gray day, and began listening to a heavy snow cover the earth. The sound of falling snow, silent yet perceivable, felt pure and clean to Tom’s heart; a sound that delighted the hearts of children, but annoyed the hearts of adults who struggled to make it to life-draining jobs on time.

  “Rachel,” he finally spoke, “I was the pastor who attended to the funeral of Jack Mayes, the husband of Jessica Mayes.”

  “What?” Rachel gasped. Tom Braston was not the type of man to offer jokes in a time filled with fear and panic. She struggled to voice her thoughts, “Tom... You...”

  “This is our secret, Rachel,” Tom insisted in a careful voice. He asked Rachel to close the office door and sit down. Rachel did as asked.

  “Rachel,” Tom continued, as if he were walking barefoot through a pile of broken glass, “after the funeral, I was approached by a woman who began questioning me about Jessica Mayes. I was asked some basic questions that I had no answers to, and then the woman left. The woman who questioned me is the same CIA agent who was shot in Georgia.”

  “Goodness,” Rachel whispered.

  Tom rubbed his tired eyes. “I met Jessica Mayes briefly. However, I feel the woman is somehow...innocent. I can’t explain what... I can’t explain my reasoning, Rachel.” Tom stopped rubbing his eye, focused on Rachel’s shocked face, and sighed. “I’m sorry. This must be—”

  “I am honored that you are confiding in me, Tom,” Rachel stated in a caring voice, “and, of course, your secret is safe with me. This is quite a shock. I was aware that you were called to attend a funeral, but I had no idea... Jessica Mayes...my goodness.”

  “I looked into the woman’s eyes, Rachel. Jessica Mayes isn’t a killer. A lost soul, yes, but a killer? No,” Tom insisted, and then shook his head. “But what is the point of even speaking of her? I’m in no position to help the woman, even if she is innocent. I suppose there is a chance guilt is connected to her actions.” Tom placed his hands together. “Jessica Mayes is probably out of the country by now. At least, that’s my guess.”

  “It would seem practical,” Rachel agreed, staring into Tom’s strained face. “You came to pray for Jessica Mayes, didn’t you, Tom?”

  “I came to pray for guidance,” Tom confessed. “However...yes, part of my prayer was aimed at Jessica Mayes.”

  “But the video, Tom,” Rachel stated, “the video clearly shows the woman—”

  “Firing a gun at a man who was firing a gun at her,” Tom pointed out. “The video shows a gunfight taking place,” he continued. “In my view, Jessica Mayes was acting in self-defense. And secondly, Rachel, the woman left a secure position and walked right out into the open, becoming a clear target. Why?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Jessica Mayes didn’t target the man she killed, Rachel. The man that was killed was firing an assault rifle at her.” Tom felt anger touch his heart. He knew a set up when he saw one. “The man who filmed the incident was standing behind a tree and managed to get a good angle,” he explained. “The video clearly shows the bearer of the assault rifle to be the first person to begin firing.”

  “I never considered—”

  “And again,” Tom stated, regretting cutting Rachel off, “why did Jessica Mayes leave a secure position to walk right out into the line of fire? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “No, I don’t suppose any of this makes sense,” Rachel agreed.

  “I was in the infantry as a young man,” he explained, calming his voice as he clasped his hands together. “The first thing a soldier learns is to never leave a secured fighting position unless ordered to do so or unless his life is in danger. Jessica Mayes was hiding behind the van, Rachel, and then suddenly the video shows her walking out into the open.” Tom paused, as he remembered the video. “The man who was killed moved into a different firing position in order to shoot Jessica. But what struck me the most was the way Jessica Mayes was firing her gun. She wasn’t aiming at anyone in particular. It was almost as if she were in a daze.”

  Rachel watched Tom struggle to convey his troubled thoughts.

  “Jessica Mayes did kill a man,” she pointed out to Tom. “And an officer of the law was brutally attacked.”

  “Yes, that is true,” Tom agreed, as his heart began to groan.

  Rachel wanted to reach out and touch Tom’s hand for comfort but decided not to. “Jessica Mayes was hiding in a very awful place, Tom.”

  “Where would you hide?” Tom asked Rachel. “Where would you hide if you were the most wanted woman in America...in the world?”

  “I’m not sure,” Rachel honestly answered. “But...Tom, the video clearly showed two men and a woman in a wheelchair with Jessica Mayes. It’s obvious this woman isn’t working alone. And,” Rachel pointed out, “Jessica Mayes did have a gun on her. If this woman is innocent, why did she have a gun? Why did the man in the video have a gun? Why were they hiding? These are the sensible questions that a rational person must ask themselves, Tom.”

  Tom nodded his head. “Yes, Rachel, you are correct.”

  Rachel calmly placed her hands together. “My uncle worked for the Israeli Intelligence. He was a good man who devoted his life to the welfare of Israel. He died many years ago, shot down by an Arab in Tel Aviv. His murder was reported as a robbery that went wrong, but I knew better. My uncle had been targeted by an Arab street gang working for Iran.” Rachel paused for a few seconds in order to allow the sadness consuming her heart to settle. “I understand how the media can manipulate, but I did see the video. My own eyes witnessed the truth.”

  “The truth,” Tom sighed. “Yes, the truth... the truth...”

  “Jessica Mayes killed a woman in Georgia and then killed a man in Missouri. This woman is leaving a trail of dead bodies, Tom. I’m afraid, at the moment, until someone can present to me evidence that proves otherwise, I must assume this woman is guilty.”

  But Jessica Mayes isn’t guilty, Tom wanted to scream, Jessica Mayes is innocent. She’s being set up by...by a great evil. Jessica Mayes is a grieving widow who was thrust into a nightmare and nothing more.

  “Yes, Rachel, you are right,” he spoke, caving in to her logic. “While many questions are floating around in my mind...well, I suppose there is no sense in talking about this anymore. As we both agreed a minute ago, Jessica Mayes has probably managed to leave the country.”

  “Let’s hope Jessica Mayes is captured,” Rachel sighed, stood up, and offered Tom a sweet smile. “I must go home and walk my dog now, Tom. Max gets fussy when I’m late.”

  “Drive carefully,” Tom smiled back and pointed at the stain glassed window behind his desk. “The snow is very heavy today. The streets are slippery.”

  “I will drive very carefully.” Rachel promised and left Tom alone and feeling even more defeated, upset and confused.

  Jessica Mayes...Jessica Mayes...innocent...innocent….

  “You must be—” Tom began to speak aloud but stopped when the cell phone in his suit pocket began to ring.

  A strange sense of fear swept over Tom. With a shaky hand, he retrieved the cell phone and checked the caller. The incoming call number was strange. Tom reluctantly answered the call.

  “Hello, who is this? Jessica Mayes?” he whispered in a shocked voice but said no more as the snow continued to fall outside.

  Chapter 5

  On the Move

  Wendy Cratterson’s eyes fluttered slightly, dropped closed, fluttered again, and then she fell back to sleep. Lionel lifted his right hand and rubbed his lip.

  “Her
vitals are stable,” he said, more to himself than to the man standing in the hospital room with him.

  Dr. Ellison Placks walked over to a gray-framed hospital bed, his black loafers resonating like cannons across the deep-gray stone floor, and looked down at Wendy’s lovely, deadly face.

  “This woman will live,” he assured Lionel in a cold tone. Dr. Ellison was a seventy-one year-old man who rented out his medical skills to the highest bidder. Before being contacted by Lionel, Dr. Ellison had been part of an Irish terrorist group working in England to help orchestrate ‘Knife Attacks’. Dr. Ellison’s duty had been to patch up wounded terrorists who were hit by private citizens that had decided to fight back. The global news proudly aired the attacks in a demented attempt to spread fear among the masses, but it refused to show the private citizens fighting back.

  One man, a young nineteen-year-old Irish boy with a huge chip on his shoulder, had decided to attack a mixed martial arts fighter. Instead of becoming a victim, the fighter plunged the knife in question straight into the nineteen-year-old’s gut. Ugly business.

  Lionel didn’t look at Dr. Ellison. He knew the man was wearing a gray suit, a thin pair of reading glasses, and a soulless face beneath a head of thin gray hair. To the world, Dr. Ellison looked like a harmless old man who sat around in parks feeding pigeons. Lionel knew better. Dr. Ellison was a deadly killer more than he was a doctor.

  “When should I expect improvement?”

  “In time,” Dr. Ellison informed Lionel. He checked Wendy’s pulse and then focused on the woman’s IV. “The x-rays are not concerning, at least in my eyes. In the eyes of a mainstream hospital, looking to turn a cold sore into an emergency, perhaps.” Dr. Ellison paused, studied the secure room he was standing in, and continued. “You must care about this woman. You have gone through a great deal of trouble to save her.”

  “Agent Cratterson is of interest,” Lionel responded, feeling exhausted and ready for a few hours of sleep. His gray-white shirt and gray slacks, once in tip-top shape, were now wrinkled and in desperate need of attention. “I want hourly updates.”