Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  “I was trying to get your superstar to focus on his job and protect my kids,” he firmly replied.

  “You provoked a fight with another agent and assaulted him with a knife!”

  “You have got to be kidding me, provoked him? He punched me! He should be fired. He’s a professional what, wrestler, or Federal Agent?”

  “We’ll get to that tonight when we’re on the boat alone. You left us in the meeting, you zoned out for a while. What happened?” She pressed firmly down on the shirt, compressing the wound.

  “I was…contemplating what I’ve gotten my children into.” He shut his eyes in an attempt to keep MacJames from interpreting his expressions.

  “That’s a lie. You didn’t look like a man in deep thought. You were distracted, you left us.”

  He jerked his head towards her. “What the hell are you talking about? I was in a room with six other people.”

  MacJames was not easily fooled. “Physically you were there, but you weren’t there mentally, at least not until you started your own Ultimate Fight. You looked like you were listening to someone else at the end of the table…” She turned Mitchelli’s head squarely to her face and looked into his eyes. Her left hand was resting at the top of his chest, her right hand on his shoulder wound. Mitchelli could not lie; she knew him. She had him trapped like a deer in headlights. He put his left hand over her left hand. “Where did you go, Peter? I don’t scare easily. Who were you with? You weren’t with us Peter, and I’m not going to quiz you with questions from the meeting to prove you zoned out.”

  Mitchelli replied, “I can’t tell you where my mind was during our meeting…I’m not really sure. When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know, I promise you.”

  “Well, at least you told me the truth.” She looked into his eyes as they stared through her, suddenly turning black. Her mind wandered, searching for something that was bothering her. What’s the connection between Peter, Handly and the football game? Mitchelli had hinted he discussed his relationship with Handly when telling of his High School football game, where his rage had gone terminal. You love-struck tart, you learned nothing from Peter’s high school coach. “You can’t go on like this Peter. You’re under too much stress; this has to end. What if you zone out with your kids?” MacJames moved her right hand gently on his neck. Their heads moved toward one another as they embraced in a kiss. She had to take advantage of their passionate moment to get the answers she had to have, “Honey, you still haven’t told me how you know Handly.” She felt his body tense, his eyes burned through her soul. Who’s using who? My God, Angela what are you doing?

  Suddenly, there were several quick raps at the door. They separated and nervously she whispered, “We’ll continue this tonight… Come in.” Pam entered with several pullover shirts and a large first aid kit.

  ***

  Coarseni signed out the isolated conference room. This room was located in a remote section of the office the furthest away from the forest of cubicles. The room had sound resistant walls, ceiling, floor, and door. The outside window was quadruple paned and highly tinted; no occupants of the room were visible from the outside. Once seated and situated in the room you couldn’t help but notice the constant sound of rushing air. The noise from the ventilating system helped obscure conversations from listening devices. There were no interior windows adjacent to the door for prying agents to peer or be thrown through during an impromptu Mitchelli training session.

  Interrogating Mitchell Garez, the sole survivor chosen to live by the expertise of Mitchelli’s gunplay, was the responsibility of the CIA’s Brian Mores. Mores was at FBI headquarters to update the team. Freed, Coarseni, MacJames, Buckala and a freshly bandaged Mitchelli were waiting with anticipation for Mores’s report. They were disappointed.

  “At first, I thought Garez’s panic episodes were a con in an attempt to throw us off the trail,” Mores said. “But after four days and just as many psychologists prognoses, this guy’s fear has turned him into a dysfunctional paranoid schizophrenic.” Mores looked at Mitchelli, “Peter I wish you would’ve kept one of the other guys alive. I mean I should have known he was going to be difficult the first time he crapped his pants and we had to tranquilize him.”

  “Yah Peter why the hell didn’t you wing one of the other guys before you bled to death you amateur.” Coarseni couldn’t resist getting a jab in; the group ignored his response.

  Freed was confounded. He didn’t want to report to secretary Stuart they had failed to get any information from their first solid suspect in two years. “Pat, do you think he’s trying to negotiate? He’s duped the Chicago Police for the last ten years.”

  “If he is Bob, he’s the best I’ve ever seen. I’m worried the bum’s getting so wound up he’s going to have a stroke or open up his wounds. We’re on our second set of straps with this guy and his wrist and ankles are all torn up from pulling on them.”

  “Are you worried his boss is going to hang you from your garage rafters like a side of beef?” Freed asked what was on everyone’s mind.

  “Bob if that question came from anyone else in this room other than you, I would have knocked them on their back. I’ve known you for a long time, unlike others in this room; you’re not a wise ass.” He looked at Coarseni. “I’ll answer it because I don’t want Peter to feel like he’s the only person whose life could be in jeopardy. You got balls Mitchelli; I respect that. Don’t let those petty names get to you. I served the agency for almost twenty years. I thought I saw it all, if I told you what I’ve seen I’d have to pull your ticket and wouldn’t think twice about doing it. From day one, watching Garez panic and soil himself telling me he’s dead along with the rest of us, well it is starting to get to me. Maybe I’m getting to close to retirement, or lost my guts looking for our missing men.” Mores looked at Mitchelli then at Freed. “Bob, if I thought I could crack this guy, regardless of his chicken shit episodes, I would tell you.”

  “Turn him loose, then.” Buckala interrupted the silence.

  “What do you mean turn him loose? Three of us almost died getting him.” Freed replied.

  “Look, we’ve scored, we’re in charge. We took at least three hundred million in heroin from them, plus four of their men. They want what we have; we’re in the driver’s seat.” Buckala looked at Coarseni while he spoke.

  Freed responded, “Sal, what about our missing men?”

  Buckala answered, “What about them? The crooks don’t know who took their stuff. If we’ve played our cards right they think it was another player trying to cut into their action.”

  Mores nodded his head in agreement. “Bob I’ve been thinking the same thing. Let’s turn him lose.”

  MacJames quickly interrupted, “--and track him like an animal!”

  “Exactly, track the son of bitch like wild frickin’ animal.” Mores looked at MacJames then at Freed.

  Freed asked, “Brian, you think he’ll run home? Lead us to his boss?”

  “That’s the problem Bob,” Mores answered. “Either he’s crazy or incredibly smart. Even if he’s crazy, I don’t think he’ld go running home.”

  Mitchelli perked up. “Then let him take it to them--not all the heroin just enough to get their attention and keep him focused on making contact with his employer.”

  “I agree!” Buckala smiled.

  “That’s what I was thinking too!” said Mores. “Let’s bait the little bastard. They may come to him.”

  Freed said, “Wow! Wait a minute, you want to let our only suspect for a terrorist conspiracy—involving kidnapping murder, narcotics, and narcotics trafficking—loose? Just let him walk?”

  Coarseni nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Sounds frickin’ crazy. Who’s hungry?”

  Ignoring Coarseni’s comment, Buckala answered Freed. “Bull, Bob we do it all the time and so do you when a judge sets bail. You’ve never tailed a suspect out on bail? Don’t play that federal holier than thou crap. We’ve held Garez in limbo. I may be a local
cop but he hasn’t been charged with anything. Mitchelli, did you read him his rights before you passed out at the water’s edge?” Buckala pounded his hand on the table. “Two years and you’ve gone nowhere with this case except losing more agents. You throw the book away and bring in two long shots and we blow this case wide open.”

  Freed held his ground, “The Department of Homeland Security knows everything we’re doing; we didn’t throw away the book or the law!”

  “Did Garez call his lawyer, Bob? Do we still owe him that phone call? We’re just five days late?” Mitchelli sat up in his chair as he finished his question.

  Freed said, “Listen, Peter, you’ve come a long way in a short amount of time, the justice department knows exactly what we’re doing…” He stopped as he looked at MacJames; she cautiously turned her head side to side. Freed played by the book. He towed the line straight down the middle. He was operating in a world where they had failed for two years playing it by the book. Secretary Stuart knew this; it was in the interest of national security, to keep the operation covert. Even the liberal President and his advisers trembled at the thought of headlines spreading panic. “How Can The United States Government Win Two Wars Abroad When It Can’t Protect Its Police Officers At Home?” “The Government Can’t Protect Their Own Agents! They’re Missing In Lake Erie, Lost!” Freed looked around the table. He knew Mores, Buckala and Mitchelli were right. The team had the momentum; they had to batten down the hatches, full steam ahead, or be damned. “Brian, you have a plan to release Garez and follow him?”

  “No,” Mores answered. “But I’ll get working on it.”

  Freed replied, “We going to need one brick of heroin for enticement.”

  “Bob, what the hell are you talking about?” Coarseni asked.

  Freed explained, “Well if all of you are right and we’re in the driver’s seat as the unknown Mafia competition, I want to wave it in front of Handly’s nose to see if he bites at the bait. If he’s the operator he’s going to bite down hard and get hooked.” Freed’s request surprised Mores and Mitchelli.

  “These guys are ruthless butchers,” Buckala said. “A competitor would know that and leave more than the merchandise.” Buckala looked at Coarseni, then at Mitchelli.

  “Correct Sal,” said Coarseni. “A real operator would dump a body with the heroin. One of their men with the junk.” Coarseni looked at Mitchelli. “Not his brother-in-law; that would be too personal.”

  “Dom, I agree,” Buckala said, getting excited about the plan. “That would scare the hell out of his wife finding her brother hanging around dead outside the kitchen door.” Buckala looked at Freed.

  Freed finished, “You see Peter, if they think you’re the Marauder we don’t have a lot of time to sit around waiting for them to make a mistake, as I have been appropriately reminded by Angela. So your two misfit Italian partners have come up with a plan to plant one of the stiffs we have thanks to you at Handly’s house.”

  Coarseni jumped in. “Bob, the phone lines to the house are tapped and were working on monitoring Handly’s cell phone. He finds his bro… Ok, ok, get this, it doesn’t matter; we’re betting he doesn’t call the police. And if he does he’s not going to let that brick of heroin out of his sight. He wants the rest of his shipment.”

  “Bob, you threw the FBI manual away pretty quick.” Mitchelli smiled, he was surprised with Freed’s sudden laissez-faire attitude.

  “We could be throwing away our careers,” Freed said. “But we have to get them before they strike at the Marauder.”

  MacJames looked across the table as the agents planned the placement of a corpse at Handly’s house. She thought it bizarre as she watched the agents that were dazed for two years over their failed investigation gone nowhere; now they were on the offensive, bending the law, placing a dead thug’s body at their primary suspect’s residence. An idea, one thought, crept into her mind. She felt a sudden pressure in her chest imagining her future love motionless. She watched him as he gazed at Task Force E’s agents frantically planning the night’s crime. Why did the smugglers at the grain elevator scream out asking Peter who he was working for, as though they knew him? How could my love know Leo Handly? What was their connection? Who is Peter working for, the government or…No it can’t be, he couldn’t! It’s not possible!

  CHAPTER 20

  MacJames sat in Mitchelli’s house, explaining to his mother-in-law the necessity for the security precautions. She stuck to the original ruse: Mitchelli’s so-called mugging at the marina. MacJames warned the muggers and their gang might take retribution on Mitchelli’s family in an attempt to discourage him from testifying. Lillian reluctantly accepted MacJames’s explanation; she had little choice.

  Mitchelli stood in his driveway and stared at the Mercury Marquis, the standard government vehicle for law enforcement, parked in the street several hundred feet from his house. From their car, two FBI Agents scanned Mitchelli’s neighborhood searching for any threats. It was unusually warm for mid-June, ninety-five degrees, hot and humid. Waves of heat rose from the hot asphalt, making the car appear as an illusion. The black car looked out of place parked on the quiet rural street. Though he had over six hundred feet of frontage, Mitchelli was convinced his neighbors had already complained to the town about the mysterious vehicle parked in the neighborhood.

  The hot, humid, hazy conditions compounded the torment in his mind. His body was still sore from his gunshot wounds. His face was swollen as a result of his fight with Hoss. He was suffering mentally and physically. He hesitated before entering his home, recalling the mysterious visit from his deceased wife earlier in the conference room. What is happening to me? Ann, what have I done? Peter, stay on track. You need to focus, for your children’s safety. Marauder’s Next. You can finish this. You’re a dead man. Task Force E will solve this case. The end is near. Marauder’s Next. You are dead. Marauder’s Next. Mitchelli’s obsessive thoughts had returned. He was losing the battle within his mind and the feeling of impending defeat was catastrophic.

  MacJames was with the children at the kitchen table when Mitchelli entered his home. Kaitlin screamed with excitement when she saw her father walk slowly into the kitchen. She ran to him. Because of his wounds, he could not bend to pick her up, so he kneeled. Kaitlin jumped on him, knocking his butt to the floor. Peter Jakob, sensing a wrestling match with his father grabbed his father around the neck and pulled him backwards towards the floor. Both children laughed.

  “Oh my God, you’re going to start bleeding, STOP!” MacJames yelled. She had no desire to bandage Mitchelli’s wounds for the third time in one day.

  Mitchelli’s mother-in-law ordered the children off of Peter. “Dear Lord, Peter Jakob, Kaitlin Rose, get off your father, listen to Ms. MacJames!”

  Kaitlin and Peter persisted as their father fell on his back. Kaitlin straddled his stomach with her legs, her hands resting on his chest. Mitchelli’s expression changed; MacJames recognized it instantly. He remembered his dream as he looked at his daughter. Mitchelli’s victory over his Mind Kill was slipping away from him. He contemplated his nightmare against his actions in the real world. His mind was hard at work slowly killing him.

  Mitchelli smiled at her. “Kaitlin, give Daddy a hug and tell me you love me.”

  Still wanting to wrestle, Kaitlin hesitated, and playfully pretended to choke her father. The little girl stopped, she had looked into her father’s eyes recognizing his immense sadness as only a daughter could. She wrapped her arms around his neck and said softly, “I love you, Daddy.”

  She licked her lips just before she planted a big kiss on his cheek. Peter Jakob kissed the other cheek. Mitchelli’s two children lay on top of him, dwarfed by their father’s size. Mitchelli wrapped his arms around them. He thought of the agents outside, the threat carved in Kazz’s skin, Marauder’s Next. Images of his night terror tore through his mind. He squeezed the children harder as he recalled his illusion of Ann in the conference room. He could not move or touch his dec
eased wife; he had to touch his children to confirm he was alive and not hallucinating. Mitchelli battled with the premonition of his death. He fought his mental demons for his children. He lived for his children, and would kill to save their lives.

  PJ put his hand on his father’s face. “Dad, you’re shaking, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t be a jerk Peter, he’s just cold!” Kaitlin quickly shot her brothers concerns down.

  Mitchelli a master of hiding his thoughts slipped. He quietly spoke, “My time with you is short, my end draws near.”

  “What did you say, Dad?” Peter Jakob asked.

  MacJames thinking on her feet quickly replied, “Peter, your dad was praying.” She walked over and kneeled by Mitchelli and the children. She held PJ’s hand, concerned he had heard his father’s words of doom.

  Mitchelli’s comment had been unintentional. “I’m praying I don’t get another wet one from Kaitlin,” he joked. Both PJ and Kaitlin maniacally licked their lips to get them as wet as possible. The children smothered their father’s face with wet, slobbering kisses.