Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Buckala ran to Mitchelli, kneeling beside him. “Hey partner, good job! I taught you well.”

  “Sal, Handly murdered Ann. What have done? Handly is finished I killed him, and Dutch has done the same to me. I’m finished.” Mitchelli’s body was covered in his own blood. His eyes closed then quickly opened, “Melanie, where’s Melanie?” His eyes slowly closed as his body went limp.

  The agents stormed into the camp, firing at the guards. Several stood by Buckala, his vest identifying him as a police officer. The few guards left standing dropped their rifles and placed their hands over their heads.

  Buckala removed his radio from his vest, “Boss, County, I have the Marauder, repeat, I have the Marauder. He needs to be evacuated, many wounds, repeat, many wounds. Request immediate dust off, over.”

  “Roger that, Agent Williams will assist you getting Marauder aboard Tiny. Medic is on hand to stabilize, over.”

  The medics helped Buckala load the Marauder onto the helicopter. They, along with the prisoners, took off aboard Tiny as the sun began to rise over the hills. The tactical agents stayed behind to secure the crime scene and gather evidence. The medics had three IV bags hanging over Mitchelli. His vitals were bad; the medics informed Buckala that he had lost an excessive amount of blood, he was weak, and his blood pressure was dropping.

  Buckala’s face was white as he watched Mitchelli fade. He looked back at the prisoners huddled together on the floor; the young men had aged a lifetime imprisoned.

  One of them approached Buckala and spoke. “Thank you for not forgetting about us,” he said. The prisoner extended his arm, touching Buckala affirming his liberator was not an aberration.

  Buckala fell against the side of the helicopter and his eyes filled with tears as he thought of Mitchelli’s children. The medics hovered over him, attempting to save his life. The civilian who had drafted Buckala from his forced leave of absence from Buffalo PD was dying. Buckala was overwhelmed with remorse. Mitchelli, the only man who had believed in his abilities as a detective was lying in a pool of his own blood dying on the floor before him.

  The prisoner sat next to Buckala. “They caught his wife Ann searching for him in the forest,” he said.

  “What? His wife died three years ago.”

  “This man surrendered demanding they exchange his life for hers. He called the woman Ann and pleaded with those bastards to let her go. She kept screaming he was sick and needed his medicine, she resisted so they beat her badly. He begged them to spare his wife. I tell you, he kept calling her Ann. They didn’t care they tortured both of them. We watched from the metal building. Handly kicked her to death right in front him. Can you imagine? They beat his wife to death while he watched. This blonde woman arrived with that scumbag Handly, funny thing though she caressed this man and gave him a cigarette as if she knew him. The blonde woman took his wife’s body from the camp. We saw everything. Do you know him well?”

  Christ, it was Melanie. He confused Melanie for his wife Ann. Buckala cringed with grief. He could not talk; he nodded slowly to the prisoner. He now understand Mitchelli’s words ‘Handly murdered Ann.’

  The prisoner asked, “Does he work for the government? Is he one of us?”

  Buckala covered his face and called out, “God no, we’re not sure what he is.” He could barely talk; he was overwhelmed with remorse. He looked at the prisoner, “He saved both our lives, funny at first they didn’t even want him involved with the investigation. He never gave up, he lost everything.”

  The prisoner kneeled by the medics extending his trembling arm between the medics to touch Mitchelli. The prisoners who could walk stood gazing at the man dying on the floor, the man Dutch called The One, The Marauder.

  Shaken, Buckala looked out the window the glaring morning sun shining on his face. The helicopters slowed and then began to circle. They were in a holding pattern minutes from the county hospital.

  Buckala yelled into his radio, “Boss what’s the delay?”

  “Flight we’re in a holding pattern, Buffalo Control cannot clear us for approach until two jetliners land. They couldn’t clear the pattern.” Freed’s voice was sullen.

  “He can’t wait, he’s dying!” Buckala yelled as he made his way to the cockpit.

  “Damn it Boss, Steiner, get that frickin tower on the radio!” Zachovich never released his mic button.

  Freed placed his hand on the scar around his neck , remembering how Mitchelli had saved his life. Always by the book, Frig the book! “Flight form up on County were taking him in, County put us on the deck Tally-ho.”

  The black copter nosed down and quickly picked up speed. The CH 53 followed with the Black Hawk taking up the rear. The CH53 shuttered as it dove towards the ground and Buckala sat back in his seat.

  Zachovich’s voice rattled from the vibration of the dive as he spoke over the radio, “Buffalo Tower this Captain Zachovich of the Erie County Reserve Engineers, E Flight, is proceeding to ECMC, our situation critical, repeat, my man is dying. If you don’t clear the airspace you’re going to have a disaster in Cheektowaga!” The controller looked at his radar screen, watching Flight E heading on an intercept coarse with his jetliner.

  The airliner copilot nudged his Captain pointing to the three helicopters headed in their immediate flight path as they listened to the radio transmission. The Captain nodded his head to his copilot, “Buffalo Control, this is Red Jet flight 223 we’re gearing up and clearing the approach area.” The gear retracted and the Captain pushed the throttles forward, Turn and Burn Baby! The large passenger liner pulled steeply up as the helicopters flew below her. “Red Jet 223 to E Flight Captain, Good luck.”

  Zachovich responded, “I owe you a beer Captain, much obliged.”

  ***

  MacJames and the children were seated at table in the USS Belinda’s galley. Vice Principal Winer sat at the end of the table, an ice bag on his head. Captain Rose approached the table.

  “Principal Winer, are you hurt?”

  Winer moaned and Kaitlin answered the Captain, “He was up late last night grading Peter’s exams and was so happy Peter passed, he fell out of his bunk and hit his head.”

  “Halleluiah, I was elated,” Winer moaned sarcastically.

  “Ms. MacJames, may I speak to you privately?” MacJames immediately walked with the Captain to a corner of the galley. “Mission accomplished. All kidnapped agents are accounted for and they are recuperating in the hospital.”

  MacJames had only one concern. “Their father, Peter Mitchelli? How is he?”

  “He’s alive, barely. He was pretty beat up when they pulled him out. He’s in critical condition at the hospital.”

  MacJames’s shoulders dropped. The bad news knocked the life out of her. Her hands shaking she nervously pulled her hair back, attempting to conceal her emotions. The Captain removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “The Secretary of HLS has spoken personally to the doctors. He’s dispatched a surgeon from Washington specifically assigned to oversee his care. Ma’am, the Secretary wanted me to make sure you know they are doing everything they can. Agent Freed has contacted his family and debriefed them. This message was dispatched for you this morning.” The Captain handed her an envelope as MacJames wiped the tears from her eyes.

  She waited until the Captain had left her alone to open the envelope.

  Mac

  My little girl called her Dad for help. You haven’t called me Dad since your mother was alive. We’ve led separate lives since your mother’s passing. As a father, my performance has been less than stellar; for that I am truly sorry.

  Under your care, Kaitlin and Peter Jakob have the best. Their father’s judgment has been consistently perfect. Your character, love and perseverance has won the day, his children are safe. I am so very proud of you.

  Our project has exceeded all our expectations, officially and personally. I will do everything in my power to facilitate his health and safe return to his children. We must
have faith in our prayers.

  Love you,

  Dad

  ***

  There were no passionate embraces when MacJames was united with her love Peter Mitchelli. Mitchelli was barely alive. He was dependent on life support equipment for months, and his status remained critical. At his bedside everyday, MacJames continued to blame herself for his demise. She was overwhelmed with guilt for getting him involved in an investigation the government could not solve. Her emotions were shattered. She felt like a shell of a woman.

  Her father stayed at her side for over a month. Secretary Stuart clung to his daughter’s hand as she sat at Mitchelli’s bedside day after day. The Secretary had only one priority: his daughter’s well being. If it were not for the rekindled relationship with her father, MacJames surely would have succumbed to her depression.

  The Secretary continually pushed the team of doctors to cure his boy, his special project Peter Mitchelli, his Buffalo Italian Contractor, the man terrorist criminals called The Marauder. Mitchelli’s physical health gradually improved and eventually he was discharged from the hospital. As before, there were no police escorts or fan fare as he left the hospital. Any celebration for his return to good health would have gone unnoticed by Mitchelli. The healthier he became, the more consistent his nightmares. He rarely spoke while awake and when he slept, MacJames heard his voice come alive. He would yell for his wife Ann, interrupted by occasional calls for Angela. When MacJames attempted to comfort him and calm his nerves, he screamed for Melanie. His mind gripped by the horror of watching her die. His thoughts erratic, his mind terrorized, he still believed Melanie’s death was that of his wife’s.

  “They killed Melanie! They killed Ann, stay away from me before they destroy you!” He would grab MacJames holding her tight, squeezing her body, then he would pass out, immediately falling back to sleep. Encouraged by Dr. Rubin, MacJames stayed by his side hoping for the best.

  ***

  On a cool October Saturday morning, Mitchelli sat in a folding chair in front of a soccer field. Peter Jakob was in goal. Kaitlin sat on a blanket next to Mitchelli, playing with their adopted dog Madison. MacJames walked towards them carrying a cup of coffee in each hand. She sat down next Mitchelli watching the game and noticed he had a bag on his lap.

  “Peter, what’s in the bag?” She curiously asked as she set the coffee cups beside her on the ground.

  Mitchelli did not respond, so Kaitlin replied, “A boy gave him the bag. He said a lady told him to deliver it. She gave him a hundred dollars.”

  “A hundred dollars! Wow, that’s big money!” MacJames shouted enthusiastically to Kaitlin in disbelief. She knew Kaitlin was known to exaggerate.

  “You’re Beautiful,” Kaitlin said, turning to the dog. “I’m going to call you Beautiful! I bet no one’s called you that before. You have the prettiest eyes. May I have a kiss?” She hugged the dog.

  Mitchelli listened to his daughter reminisce of conversations with the most recent women in his life. His hand shaking, he reached out to touch Kaitlin. MacJames was shocked by his sudden alertness--his response was natural and immediate. Mitchelli opened the bag, removing a pack of cigarettes and a plastic prescription container of pills. The same pill container Butaninni had taken to him in the woods the last night he saw her. MacJames watched as he looked at the pills, remembering that night. The trembling in his hands noticeably increased as he sat in silence, remembering. He read a small note on the pack of cigarettes neatly written by a woman.

  Thank you for saving me, you set me free! Let me know if you ever need a light, I’ll come running!

  Beautiful

  Kaitlin stood up and screamed as Peter Jakob stopped a goal, “GOOD JOB PETER, WAY TO HANG TOUGH AND NOT GIVE UP!”

  Mitchelli’s body shook. He struggled to stand, barely getting to his feet. He slowly raised one arm at a time above his head. MacJames at first watched with concern then began to cry as he cheered his son. Peter Jakob looked at his father, embarrassed by his outburst over an easy save. Mitchelli turned his body into the sunlight, taking notice of its warm rays on his face. He picked Kaitlin up giving her a wet juicy kiss on the cheek and placed her back on the blanket as she wiped his kiss from her face.

  MacJames grabbed him. “Peter how are you feeling?” she asked, her vivid green eyes sparkling in the sun.

  Mitchelli wrapped his arms around MacJames for the first time since his mission to Olean. He looked into her eyes getting lost in their beauty. He grinned as he studied her face, memorizing every feature. MacJames had almost forgot this man; his movements were familiar, his body was coming back to life, his passion for her was returning. As he held her in his arms, she ran her fingers slowly over his lips and they kissed as they had done for the first time on the Buffalo Pier.

  Mitchelli looked into her eyes as their lips parted. “God you’re beautiful.”

  MARAUDER’S NEXT MISSION

  POLITICAL MURDER

  MARAUDER’S RESURRECTION

  BY

  PETER CASILIO