Deadly Justice

by Darrell Case

  Tony Steel was agitated to say the least. He ran his left hand through his hair holding the phone away from his ear with his right.

  “Yes sir, yes sir, but Mr. President.” The phone buzzed in his ear. He held it at arm's length, staring at the instrument as if it were a snake. At this moment, he would feel safer handling a rattler. How had things gotten so out of control? Card gunned down within earshot of the media. Now some trigger-happy prison guard murders a prisoner right in front of a federal officer.

  When Robbins as just a senator proposed the idea two years ago, Steel's first reaction was it would never work. “There are too many variables,” he had told Robbins. Even if you could get the judges to go along with it, there are still cops, sheriffs, wardens, guards. It's just too risky.”

  “Tony, Tony, all we have to do is set up a coordinator in each state, let them do the recruiting. So if it ever goes south, they'll never be able to trace it back to us.”

  Tony just stared at him. This was really happening.

  For months to follow they worked secretly on the recruitment list, quietly interviewing candidates they believed would come astride, feeling each one out but not disclosing the plan fully before being sure they had a commitment.

  “We will give them authorization to kill,” Robbins said one day when they had finally narrowed the list down to 50.

  They were sitting in Robbins’ study at his home in the Hamptons.

  “No, no, no, you have it all wrong,” Steel said. “You need to pick one man to be the chief coordinator, to carry out the executions." Steel said. He was drowning in his own words but he couldn’t stop. “The CIA had one man they call the Shadow.”

  “Who is the guy? Could we trust him?” Robbins leaned back in his chair, twirling his glass of wine. They were in Robbins private study at his home in the Hamptons. Outside on the sprawling patio, the noises from the party wound down to a dull roar.

  “No one knows his name.”

  “Even the CIA?”

  “Not even the CIA.”

  “What's he called again?”

  “They Shadow. I’ve heard him called Ombra too. Italian for shadow.”

  “That's it? Just the Shadow?”

  “He operates as a hired gun,” Steel said. Maybe just maybe now Jerry would realize how nuts this plan was and abandon it put an end to it

  Now a year later their initial strategy was pushing the limits of sanity and Robbins was like the Joker making lists. Tony felt like he was on a fast flight. If he stayed on, he was going to get hurt. If he jumped off, he was going to get hurt. Either way the results wouldn’t be good. He stood and stepped to the window overlooking the ocean.

  He shivered remembering the night he had met the assassin in the old rundown theater on Broad Street. True to his name, the man stayed in the shadows. But somehow Tony could feel the cynical smile creeping over him.

  “You want me to become the senator's executioner?”

  "The president's," Tony corrected in a low, hoarse voice.

  "The president, right," the man chuckled. "Of course, he has to be elected first."

  "Fifty thousand per hit. Twenty -five up front and twenty- five when it’s done."

  Robbins had instructed him to offer the hit man as much as seventy- five. For his trouble Steel would keep the other twenty five for himself and Robbins would never be the wiser.

  “That’s acceptable.”

  “How do I contact you?”

  “Got a notebook?”

  “Yeah, somewhere."Steel dug in his pockets. For a few seconds eyes diverted from the gloom that obscured the man’s face. “Ah here it is.” He looked up.

  The Ombra was gone.

  Back in Robbins office with the door locked, Steel waited to give his report.

  “No calls, no interruptions, Robbins snapped into the intercom.”

  “But, Senator, the Budget Committee meets in five minutes.”

  “No calls, no interruptions.”

  His voice almost trembling Tony gave his report.

  Robbins smiled. Steel would be haunted by that deadly grin.

  The next day a throw- away phone programmed with one number was delivered to his office. Tony secreted it in the bottom drawer.

  Less than a month later, Robbins called him back to his office.

  Propping his feet on his desk, he said, “Tony, I want you to get in touch with our friend, the Shadow, Ombra, whatever you want to call him.”

  “But we're not in office yet.”

  Robbins' feet came down with a thump. “Nor will we be unless something happens to Senator Josh Ross.”

  “You can't be serious.”

  “Do you want to be head of the FBI?”

  “Of course, but. . .” Robbins leaned across his desk, his eyes boring into Steel. “Do it.”

  “But. . .”

  “Do it.”

  “But...” even though they were alone Tony lowered his voice. “To kill a United States senator?”

  “Think of it as an act of public service.”

  A line had been crossed. He could never go back. The price he paid would cost him for eternity.

  Silently he turned and walked out of Robbins’ office.

  A shiver pricked his spine. Again the old theater. Again the shadowy figure. But something was different this time. palpably. Steel knew he was in the very presence of evil. They were alone but not alone. Shadows undulating everywhere made him worry for a moment that he as hallucinating.

  He spoke the name of the man to be eliminated and waited for a shocked reply. There was none. Just the man's cold voice.

  “Half a million for a s senator.”

  “Five hundred thousand? We can't conceal that.” That was a lie Robbins had instructed him to pay whatever the assassin wanted for this job. Tony hoped the man would refuse.

  “Come on, Steel, in a presidential campaign $500,000 is small potatoes.”

  Sweat ran down Tony's back. He felt death standing next to him. “How will you do it?”

  “You don't want to know.” The man snickered coldly, all business. “Let's just say the good senator should enjoy his next few sunrises. Wire the money and watch the news.” The man melted away into the night.

  Back in his car, Steel's hands shook so uncontrollably he could barely grip the key. He felt urine leaking down his legs. From now on, someone else would deal with this man.

  He had come to close to death tonight. He swore he’d smelled blood in that tumbled down old place.

  One week later to the day, Senator Josh Ross was dead after taking a nose dive off the Hayes Adams. They found a two-word suicide note; “I'm sorry.”

  The stunning news screamed from the headlines of every major newspaper in the country. CNN, NBC, CNBC and FOX all brought in experts to ruminate about Ross's behavior over the past month. A picture surfaced of Ross changing his granddaughter's diaper. Experts analyzed it and commentators speculated that the senator may have been molesting the child. Ross's family was so incensed by the suggestion they threatened to sue.

  Faltering by the hour, the Democrats stumbled over themselves trying to secure Ross’s replacement. They were losing the election by the hour. Robbins' spent the last days performing of the campaign giving interviews. His face was all over the nightly news. When asked about Ross’s suicide he would squeeze out a tear or two.

  Steel stayed in bed, sick in his gut. They had murdered a United States senator. God help them if the public ever found out. God help them period.

  Two weeks later the Democrat
s lost the election. They had pushed the vice presidential candidate into the presidential slot. The man had no stomach for the office. His lack of qualifications and enthusiasm were only too clear. He tried to pull the party together but the half-hearted effort floundered in a mortifying public display as it went down to Robbins’s team.

  At the Inauguration, Tony hunkered on the platform as far back as he could without falling off. His blood froze as Robbins smiled and waved to the cheering crowd. His eyes kept a wary tab on the Secret Service agents milling around. Were they there merely to protect the president or were they also waiting for the right time to collar Robbins and him? He thought about making a break for it.

  Cold as ice, Robbins mouthed over his shoulder, “Smile, Steel. We won.” Tony forced a smile. He felt bile rising in his throat.

  Alone in his hotel room later with his wife, Jenny, he could hold back no longer. His stomach churning, he locked himself in the bathroom. First, the tears came, then the heave- ho expelling everything he had forced down that day and then some.

  “Tony? Honey, are you all right?”

  Steel couldn’t answer. He turned on the faucet and used his cupped hand to bring water to his mouth. He was not all right. Robbins was about to be in the business of wholesale murder. As a conspirator, Tony could spend the rest of his life behind bars. He splashed cold water on his face and, looked himself in the in the mirror. “I've come a long way,” he thought sardonically. “From Harvard to homicide.” He dried his face, checked to see if his shirt and tie had survived, straightened the tie and ran a comb through his hair.

  He had to speak to Robbins tonight. The directorship of the FBI no longer held any appeal for him.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Jenny asked as he came out of the bathroom. He didn't answer. His hand on the door handle, he turned to look at her. She was a vision of loveliness with her flawless complexion and natural blonde hair framing her heart- shaped face. The flowing black evening gown contrasted stunningly with her pale delicate skin.

  He was going to lose this beautiful woman. Why had ever agreed to this crazy scheme?

  He did speak to Robbins that night at the Inaugural Ball. He might as well have tried to reason with a drunk. Indeed the President Elect was drunk with power.

  Cutting him off in -sentence, Robbins had thrust a sheet of paper into Steel’s hand and said, “Tony, tomorrow I want you to give this list to our friend.” Steel looked at it feeling as though he held his own death warrant. Instead of standing up to this mad man he had become his accomplice, however unwillingly. He was the fox about to step into the bear trap. Hoping to distance himself from the conspiracy, the next morning he gave the list to Keaton Wallace.

  Back in Dishon's office, Allison paced. "Mr. Dishon, these actions by your captain are reprehensible," she said leaning with her palms flat down on the edge of the front edge of the warden's desk. She stared the prison official in the eye. “And, I believe criminal.”

  “Allison… may I call you `Allison’?” Dishon said with a weak smile. “We're all friends here. What Captain Prasser did was for your safety. James Brimmer's brother murdered your father and mother. You should have never been in that office alone with him. Being a conscientious officer Prasser watches out for all our visitors.”

  “You and I both know better than that.” Allison’s tone was crisp and pointed.

  “Not five minutes before Prasser shot him in the back, Brimmer attacked. I handled the situation without the good captain's help while he stood watching in the hall with his compadres. He murdered Brimmer because he was about to tell me who killed Roe.”

  “I can't believe that,” Dishon said folding his arms over his chest.

  “Here’s what I believe, Mr. Dishon. You and the good captain conspired to murder Roe last night and Brimmer today. I don’t know why, but I’m going to find out why. And when I can prove it, I’m coming back personally to arrest you.”

  Dishon's face turned a dark red. He appeared to be having trouble breathing. He wiggled in his chair as he lifted his hand to smooth what was left of his hair. “You have just worn out your welcome, Ms. Stevens,” he sputtered. “Goodbye.”

 

  Chapter 16